Making no sense? It does really.
I knew that when I got up I would have to go to work and the thought of being stuck in an office, away from the day, from the real world just made me so miserable. Like, what was the point of going through everything I did if I don't get to be in the world? I came through this because the 'self' has a strong desire to live. It is frightening now because I still have a strong desire to live. Stronger.
A desire to really be in the world and to really, truely see it. The sky, the sun, the birds. The elemental earth. The basic earth. That was there before us and will be there after us.
(in the words of E.M. Forster)I need to 'connect' but I feel utterly unconnected. Like I am at right angles to the rest of the world, running at a tangent, a jigsaw piece askew in its place. I don't fit. What I want doesn't fit. Assuming I know what I want, "which I don't, so then which do you pick? Where you're safe out of sight, and yourself but where everything's wrong? Or where everything's right but you know that you'll never belong?" (Thank you, Stephen Sondheim)
I no longer know my own mind, I no longer trust myself to know what I want. How can I trust myself? I've spoken before about being 'broken' - and that is an issue. How can I trust myself when I have proved to be so untrustworthy? I have high demands of myself and I expect a great deal: from myself and it's destroying me.
What do I want?
I don't know.
I want to know what I want.
I want to do good, I want to do something worthwhile, to help people.
I want to stop being scared - of everything. Of other people, of what people think of me, of failing, of not being liked. I am still that child being squashed by the unkindness of others.
I want to find my 'place'.
I want to be strong.
I want to be well.
I don't want to cry all the time, over everything.
Note to self: Life is hard: grow up, stop wingeing. Get a grip. There are people out there who have and have had it worse then me. So, I'm scarred - that is all part of the story-of-me. It shows off my strength. It proves that I'm a winner. Because I refused to be a 'victim of cancer', or even a 'survivor of cancer' - I'm a winner. For now. And there is the crux of the matter. It is impossible to know what for certain the future holds: more cancer or not more cancer and that is why I need to make each moment count. I don't know how many 'moments' I get. I can't waste time sitting in offices when the sun is shining outside.
This post is abysmally written - a 'stream of consciousness, without the consciousness'. Pah - sorry if you've got this far. It probably makes no sense, and is utter rambling.
A year ago tomorrow was my first chemotherapy treatment. A year ago today was my first chemotherapy clinic appointment. Blood tests. Scary explanations of what the drugs would do to me and the instruction to return the following day to the chemo-suite (a horrible place - all pink and floral and full of scary people with cancer staring at each other.) I'll tell that story after the weekend I suspect. We'll see.