Apparently I’m losing my mind, wits, marbles – whatever. I lost things, let’s put it that way. And I can’t seem to find them. To be quite honest, I’m not sure where to look and I’ve procrastinated a bit. Okay, I haven’t looked.
My brain isn’t working, I cannot make myself do things I don’t like and I much prefer altered states of consciousness. Not conducive to my life and it’s not working out well. I seem to recently have these new rules for myself that are quite limiting. For example, I’m not allowed to leave the house after dark on a weeknight. It’s bad. This restricts movie watching at a theatre. And I must have the option of being in bed by 9:30, never mind the fact that rarely happens. No phone conversations after work. Or at work. They’re exhausting. Absolutely no doing anything different. Nope, not me. I will do the same goddamn things until my tracks are so ingrained I can’t see out of them. Ask me why? I have no idea. I know better, and chose less. Maybe removing body parts will make things different. Maybe they’ll find my wits in there, and they’ve just been hiding in my uterus. I wouldn’t blame them, it’s nice, dark and warm.
Oh god, it’s only 4:25.
I wish I had something really smart to say about all this. I got nothin’. It’s been around 6 months since I’ve written anything on this blog, mostly because I forgot about it. Today I remembered, wishing I had someone to talk at, that would just listen and nod in agreement. Here we are, you and I, go ahead and nod away.
Many endings and changes since December: my relationship ending, kids moving out, sanity gone. Not much would ever surprise me , or so I thought. Then I found a cyst and my right ovary, had it removed in April. Doctors determined it was ovarian cancer, stage 1. I’ll be going back in two weeks from today to have all the rest taken out, including my appendix. Then chemo for a bit. I’ll be in menopause and require HRT.
It’s an odd thing, having cancer. It’s exactly what you think it would be like – full of denial, resistance, disbelief and all that, and I don’t have anything major, really. Just need to do a clean sweep and I should be okay…fingers crossed. It makes you ask a lot of existential questions; tease the unimportant from the truly valuable, and examine what control you do or don’t have. It’s exhausting. And enlightening. I’ve decided I really want to be happy. I REALLY WANT TO BE HAPPY! Did you hear me? And I’m not. I don’t think I ever have been. Most of what I do, most of the time, is not making me happy. I know all the bull shit about choices, and focus and gratitude – I’m a fucking therapist for Christ’s sake. But really, it takes doing something different, not just changing your self talk. That’s where I am now, anyway. I’m sure it will change. My intent is to write about it for a while and see where I go.
Two weeks and counting…
I’ve had it up to here, where ever that is. My blood has been replaced with searing rage and is coursing through my veins at a pace that is near dangerous, though to whom I’m not sure. I’m always surprised when I can move from one emotion to another – on the opposite end of the spectrum – in 8 hours. Sleep does a body good, or puts loved ones in danger – it’s yet to be determined.
I actually felt compassion for my daughter last night when she said she was too sad to go to work or school and needed my support. I almost regretted that I told her she had to go apply for jobs all day at the mall while I was at work instead of sitting on the couch watching movies, eating food and texting me that there was no food. That is until the C-word was used in reference to my expectations of her which were “insane”. Enough. I’m done. I have no empathy or room for your mouth, needs, wants or sadness anymore. Let me explain that when you are supporting yourself there is no place for “depression”, being too sad and upset to “do life”. And I don’t give a rats ass anymore. You work or you die. I will no longer be intervening. Simple as that. I know about depression and sadness, I really do. It sucks and it makes life questionable. But honey, there are times it’s a luxury to be depressed and now is not one of those for you. E. Nough.