Read with CautionToday did not start out so bad. In fact, it started with what I thought was a bit of good luck. I heard back from my new endocrinologist (the other having fled the country) and got an appointment for tomorrow. Turns out the reason for this is not so good.
I hung out with my friend Meredith today. We ate lunch at Jason's Deli, played Scrabble (my favorite game) and went to see The Green Lantern (not as bad as I was expecting). I saw a missed call from my mother-in-law and called her back.
I still don't know what this means, but it sounds pretty terrible to me. Horrible enough for me to sit in the grass in front of Movie Tavern crying my eyes out not caring who saw. So the numbers have changed. Spread of cancer: up. Chances of further spreading: up. Chances of recurrence: up. Chances of survival: down.
The fear is back and multiplying. My desire to rage at the world, at God, at everyone who didn't just find out that they could be dying, magnified. My head was barely above the water. Today I am drowning.
I want this journal to be a beacon of hope. Something for people to look to when they are feeling scared. But I also want to be completely honest about my experience.
Right now I feel no hope. I feel scared and weak and completely WORTHLESS. Perhaps that is why so many authors recommend authorial distance. Did Poe or Hemingway ever just write in the moment? Out of raw, unrefined hate or fear? Sometimes it feels like they did. But maybe this is all gibberish because it comes more from what I am feeling than what I am thinking.
What I am feeling is very bad. It is despair, which, according to Marilla Cuthbert, means I've turned my back on God.
Well maybe He did it first.