I'm angry, disappointed and scared. Bad cocktail. I wasn't so bothered about the change in my body, I just wanted my breast mounds to be the same size and mostly, really truly, to say goodbye to my tango with cancer and get on with my life, stop this life in suspension, go to the pool or the beach and not feel absolutely ashamed and hide myself, put my bra on without sticking a bit of plastic in it beforehand - every single morning I am reminded of that cancer. No matter how much I diet and exercise (up to 20 mins running now, yeh!), my body still bears the ugliness and scars and my mind is frightened. No, fellow BC peeps or non BC peeps (you non C peeps should know better than to tell us how to feel about our 'gift' that was cancer), they are not scars of 'bravery' or 'survival', fuck that, they are scars that were necessary to keep me in this world, to stop my kids growing up without a Mum. You think I'd choose to have them? And to have this constant worry in my life? They are ugly and I am ugly.
I don't want to be brave any more. I don't want to have to be brave any more. Let me get off, please, let me be weak.
I had a horrific dream last night and I woke up crying. Thought I was dealing but am not, evidently.
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