The Hurricane

Damn. I only just read my last post, months back now, I think in December. I know way too much about this disease. Nothing surprises me, death and dying is the norm. I am not immune to fear myself, it invites itself into my head, but then again I have mastered it over and over. I just have to hold on.

It seems like I am watching the same scene play out whenever someone is dying, especially when they are famous. So much shock and sadness until the week passes and everything goes back to normal again. Until, the next person is dying and everyone is so upset again. And shocked. Can we just cut out the middle man?

How to share your disease with the public is a choice as myriad as the number of personalities out there, and the social media outlets supporting them. Bowie was private. He chose to deal with his cancer on a very secretive level. Others share their cancer trip with daily selfies, thumbs up, smiles. I find it interesting, as a study upon human nature. Why do some people seek privacy with this disease while others seek celebrity? Is it as basic as it being a coping mechanism, or does the current social media monster encourage the average person to believe they need to be somebody?

I've thought about this a lot over the years. I am always stuck in this feeling that this is mine, this is very personal, yet I am not ashamed of how I feel and what I have to do to live, therefore I should share it because what I am doing is unique.. except that oversharing is the hallmark of this current world we live in. People won't stop sharing. I am sick of people, and I am a people-person. The needy, self-important, shameless curated lives we read about everyday isn't real life. This Selfy Culture celebrates the self-obsessed. It's the norm now.

I am not an allopathic-centric medicine patient, so why not post everyday in hopes to "help others" so they know there isn't just one way to do things? Conventional-only stage IV cancer treatment is the wrong direction, in my opinion. In my opinion, it's a dead end with a lot of suffering in the middle part. People die eventually from over-treatment. It's fucked up. But I am not a poster. I'm not a seer or a superhero, I'm as lost and searching for answers as the next cancer patient. There's just something in me that won't let me follow the herd. The truth is what I seek. What is offered if I go the other way is a sure death sentence, this way-- no tellin'. I've heard all kinds of survival stories, I've met people who have beat stage IV, but will I be one of them?

I deserve credit for what I do. I work my ass off and also can speak for both types of therapies, I've done both. When I step off the holistic ride, I suddenly have all the time in the world. It's not great time, but it's not work. Holistic cancer treatment is a non-stop Think-A-Thon, Plan-A-Thon, Work-A-Thon. You don't have the luxury of just suffering, eeeh that's a joke -- suffering is not a luxury, as a cancer patient, it's a right! Suffering through painful treatment side effects suck but if anyone thinks doing holistic is side-stepping suffering, think again. I still suffer, but I live a much better quality of life physically than if I were to do only drugs. Sometimes though, things still go terribly wrong, and I think I'm dying.

The worst part of the holistic direction is the feeling of personal responsibility. The heavy burden of guilt we live with every moment. "Am I doing the right thing?? Did I just fuck that up? It's my fault. My tumor markers have gone to hell. It's my fault. I'm stupid. I screwed up again. I can't afford what I need. I feel trapped. I have no life. It's all my fault." It's a rock hop up 7 Falls. Run, run run! Rock hop, keep moving, if you slip and your shoe goes into the creek you keep running anyway.

I see my life in pieces. Not that it is in pieces but that when I see the future I only see a couple of months, in little pieces. Most of what's there is missing, the calendar pieces are missing in big gaps. They are maybe treatment bummers, or sleepless weeks that turn into months. I don't know why I'm seeing that, but I can describe the missing sections. I see the future sometimes so it's not that odd.

I knew I would have short hair in my mid-30's. I foresaw that 10 years prior. I didn't have any plans to cut it all off in the future, but I had a stronger-than-strong pre-memory of having very short hair in my mid-30's. I knew I was going to get cancer, too. I felt it coming. I know a lot of other things.

I started writing in grade school, like most little girls with diary's tend to do. Those locks were easily popped open, everyone knew your business. If I had a kid with a diary I would make sure that lock was legit. Sucks to know your dad probably read your diary. Later, later, writing became my way to express the truth without interference from others. My speaking skills are tight. Just ask the V, but when it comes down to it I prefer writing to attain my deepest form of catharsis. It's a beautiful, freeing tool.

I feel fooled and awkward, annoyed, when reading something overly-edited, flowery, or pretty even. I see writing as a tool to be used to tell a story, a raw account of the truth. The truth is not a pastel fucking painting. This isn't a popularity contest where people's ego's get fingered for a "like". I'm trying to slow this down, so fuck it.
If I won't be honest with you, nobody will.

I just love to write, and it's been awhile. It's time to stop putting off my favorite thing to do.
I couldn't wait to learn to read when I started first grade at the age of 5. All I wanted to do was learn to read and write, and copy dinosaurs off the wall next to me in math class homeroom. I would draw them in between lessons. I can't explain how creativity works, how writing works -- Why it works.
All I know is that when I'm done, like I'm getting close to being now, everything is fixed. There. All better.