I wish there were happy, harmonious things that I can write about. I can’t remember the last time I felt positive and carefree. It’s been too long. I don’t want my small band of followers thinking I’m this pessimistic little whiny bitch. But this is just a really, really rough time for me.
I was diagnosed with Stage I breast cancer a little more than a year ago and so far I’ve forgone 4 surgeries. There’s just something about me that the doctor’s love cutting up. I often wonder why it doesn’t just take me already. Like, I am willing. I’m ready. Especially when I’m down in the dumps like this. I’m tired of fighting. For everything. For my job, for friends, for forgiveness, for loyalty, for companionship. For life itself. I’m just….. exhausted. I thought taking some time off of work, away from reality, would help. But I still feel just as shitty. I’m still looking at the same four walls, with nobody but myself and a lap dog that just so conveniently hates laps.
I want to run from my problems. Not just sit in a house full of them. I just wish I could get away, really get away. Vacate the premises. Flee. I want to be somewhere drinking coffee with a friend. I want to feel the sun on my alabaster skin. I want to take pictures of random, scenic things and forget my troubles. I close my eyes and try to imagine that I am somewhere other than this sordid, claustrophobic little apartment. But it doesn’t work.
It never works.