The Story of Aunt Flow

My Aunt Flow used to visit me every month since just before I turned thirteen. Usually she was kind of a pain in the ass (among other things), but, still, I loved her because I knew she kept me healthy. For a whole year, starting May of 2010, just after I began chemotherapy, Aunt Flow went on vacation. I imagined she was off in Egypt exploring the pyramids, or roughing it in the Australian outback. She never called or sent a post card, but I stopped missing her pretty quickly. It was nice to have the break since chemo was so uncomfortable and Aunt Flow can be a little much to deal with at times.

To my surprise, one year later, in May of 2011, Aunt Flow showed up at my door and I welcomed her with love and tears of joy. I was relieved, for I had feared that she had died or gone away forever, and no one knew where she was or if she would ever return. After May, came June, and Aunt Flow was back for her usual three or four day visit, and I started to think we were back in our old monthly habits. July followed, and Aunt Flow arrived early, and she seemed a little bit angry. I feared she would never stop raging and maybe never leave, but about five or so days later, she finally said her goodbyes and left me to sleep a lot.

August came and, despite all signs to the contrary, Aunt Flow did not arrive as scheduled, and no one else seemed all that concerned over her absence. September came and went with no news, but I must have missed her a lot, because I could feel her in my gut from wherever she’d gone off to, maybe thinking of me. I worried she might show up and I would be unprepared for her visit. Then, miraculously, she popped in in early October, and my fears of her demise were put to rest. Her stay was short, but welcomed, even though she can behave like a total bitch sometimes. We said our goodbyes, and see you next month, but November came with no sign of her arrival, followed by December, and the holidays and merriment; with all the red ribbons and bows she would have loved: still no Aunt Flow.

In rang the new year, and I began to question if Aunt Flow was just getting too old to visit each month. Maybe my chemotherapy and my cancer really drove her away. I continued to worry through the long month of January. Even in the months of her absences, I still found myself craving our usually sugary indulgences, and getting extra tired from all our busy activity. Again, I began to think Aunt Flow had gone for good, and I missed her because I knew her visits meant I might, one day, be visited by her close friend, Mr. Stork, which is something I have dreamed of since I was very young.

In the past few weeks I have experienced so many “Aunt Flow is coming” signs, but I get tricked by those a lot. So, imagine my joy (and confusion), after months of worry over her whereabouts, she just burst onto the scene when I was in the bathroom yesterday! I was elated and, even though she is killing my back and testing my patience as usual, I am really glad to see her after so long.

I don’t know how long her stay will be; hopefully just a few days because I have a lot to get done and she does tend to get in the way and really make quite a mess. But, I do love her, and, even if I may only see her a few times a year now, at least I know she is okay (for now), and that she makes the effort to arrive for me and keep me healthy until the day I’m ready for Mr. Stork to come and take her place for just a bit. And, if it turns out that we return to monthly visits, I welcome them with open arms (and a bunch of chocolate!)

THE END

Book

Just started reading Living Beyond Cancer. I am glad. I know I need this book.
I have planned to go to New Orleans for their conference but, as of right now, I cannot afford to, even with the potential reimbursement. I'm bummed because I thought it would, well I think it will be a great experience (despite the air travel). Fingers are crossed I can go, but so far it doesn't look promising...

Poem January 2012

A Poem For Everyone I Know, Including Myself

I'm sorry...
for yelling, for hanging up on you, for cursing;
I'm sorry...
for hiding from life, for crying over everything, for loving the worst people too much;
I'm sorry...
for begging, for cheating, for stealing, for lying;
I'm sorry...
for not taking better care of you when you needed me, for indulging too much, being absent and inattentive,
I'm sorry...
for doing to you what was done to me, for neglecting and abusing;
I'm sorry...
that you get the brunt of my hate, the worst of my hurt, and the punishment for my blame;
I am so, so sorry...
and I forgive you.

Breast Cancer Awareness Part 1

So it's October again. My second October since I was diagnosed. I am sorting my files & much of them are medical papers. I hear so many fellow survivors/warriors talk about having DCIS (Ductual Carcinoma in Situ), and I realized months ago that I was never entirely clear on my exact diagnosis. I know I had Paget's disease of the nipple, which I was told is rare (you can see below how rare & understand how special I feel about that one!) So, as I went through my stuff, mostly by accident, I spotted my diagnosis on this paper: Infiltrating Ductual Adenocarcinoma. I had no idea what this really meant so I Googled it & found the best information on the American Cancer Society's website. I've pasted it below. I do not support breast cancer research that isn't researching diet and natural substances as cures for cancer because these ARE cures for cancer but they won't make anyone any money. What I do support is education on how to avoid getting cancer & how to find it if you have it or suspect you have. I also support organizations that give money to those who cannot afford tests and treatment. I am writing this because I think we all need to be aware of what breast cancer is; I feel that is the purpose of this month (no, it's not just wearing our pink wigs & passing out pink ribbons!).

Learn about what it is & how to be prepared if it happens to you. Right now "they" state it's 1 in every 8 women who will get breast cancer in their lifetime. It seems like it's effecting far more young people these days. I ask myself why? The only thing I can guess is diet, lifestyle (AKA stress), environment. Sure there are genetic factors & other things, but those three I listed seem most important. For more information on the various types of breast cancer you can read more on the American Cancer Society's website: http://www.cancer.org/Cancer/BreastCancer/DetailedGuide/breast-cancer-what-is-breast-cancer

Next week I'll post about the treatments & what the term chemotherapy really means. In the meantime, here's my diagnosis:

Invasive (or infiltrating) ductal carcinoma

This is the most common type of breast cancer. Invasive (or infiltrating) ductal carcinoma (IDC) starts in a milk passage (duct) of the breast, breaks through the wall of the duct, and grows into the fatty tissue of the breast. At this point, it may be able to spread (metastasize) to other parts of the body through the lymphatic system and bloodstream. About 8 of 10 invasive breast cancers are infiltrating ductal carcinomas.

Carcinoma

This is a term used to describe a cancer that begins in the lining layer (epithelial cells) of organs like the breast. Nearly all breast cancers are carcinomas (either ductal carcinomas or lobular carcinomas).

Adenocarcinoma

An adenocarcinoma is a type of carcinoma that starts in glandular tissue (tissue that makes and secretes a substance). The ducts and lobules of the breast are glandular tissue (they make breast milk), so cancers starting in these areas are often called adenocarcinomas.

Paget disease of the nipple: This type of breast cancer starts in the breast ducts and spreads to the skin of the nipple and then to the areola, the dark circle around the nipple. It is rare, accounting for only about 1% of all cases of breast cancer. The skin of the nipple and areola often appears crusted, scaly, and red, with areas of bleeding or oozing. The woman may notice burning or itching.

Paget disease is almost always associated with either ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS) or infiltrating ductal carcinoma. Treatment often requires mastectomy. If no lump can be felt in the breast tissue, and the biopsy shows DCIS but no invasive cancer, the outlook (prognosis) is excellent. If invasive cancer is present, the prognosis is not as good, and the cancer will need to be staged and treated like any other invasive cancer.

Discriminating Behaviour

I feel like people either believe I am okay and can manage on my own now so they don’t offer help, OR they have decided what my disability is and base their decisions/expectations/judgments on their perception of my limitations.



I know my limitations; I know stairs and heavy boxes are my enemy; I know what to do when I get winded or dizzy, and I know that I feel better and heal more when I am on stage and involved in theatre.



Not hiring or casting me based on your perception of my limitations is discrimination. Additionally: it’s fucked up.



Being treated like that is like when I go into restaurants with meat eaters who know that I am vegan and they spend 20 minutes listing all the “vegan” stuff I can eat. Hey, thanks, but it’s my diet and I know how to manage it; let me worry about that.



I realize these people mean well—or that they don’t recognize how rude what they do is—but doing it feels to me just as bad as not understanding what I am dealing with. I am in pain pretty much all the time. Nerve pain, joint pain, bone pain… and the best things for it are massages, swimming, and any kind of dance/movement. These things renew me and invigorate me. They also get endorphins flying which lifts my spirit and fights the depression I’m dealing with as well.



So, please don’t make judgments on me based on what you think I cannot do. How will that encourage me to do more? I can’t deny I am disappointed that this is being done to me. I don’t ever expect anyone who hasn’t had cancer, gone through chemo and dealt with the follow-up medications to fully get the picture, but if I say I can do it the least you could do is give me a shot.



xxo M

Maura Tierney

Maura Tierney is currently on the show Rescue Me. She is playing Kelly, a woman who Tommy (Denis Leary) knew a few seasons ago who had lost her daughter, and now she's just finished her chemo for breast cancer, and had a mastectomy (all just like me).

In 2009 Maura had breast cancer for real, and she helped them write a lot of the things she says. Whether you watch the show or not I say at least watch her parts (although the whole show is really great). She's truly amazing (as she has always been when she was on News Radio & ER). She is what inspires me.

Here are 3 of the pieces I'm talking about:

http://youtu.be/40DIKzAoy4E
http://youtu.be/JhvyIAv6zbA
http://youtu.be/ncJp-E-Nf-4

Chaos and Excitment

Chaos and excitement
Arts and crafts late at night
I’m dwelling in some underworld
Scaring myself.

Alone to ward off ghosts and demons
Not sure who really wants me near
I’m afraid to go outside sometimes
The fear is almost real.

Dark thoughts, sad thoughts
Creeping in on queue
Speak to me of what I’ve lost;
Of whom I cannot be.

These are the nights
Filling guilty tomorrows
And tired, oh so very tired,
Of it all.

Sharps

The feeling when it goes in,
Look away, look away,
Pinch,
Breathe,
Stab,
Breathe,
Ache,
DEEP BREATH...
And out,
And out comes the needle
Like a cramp searing my vein,
And the IV is in again.

Article

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/29/hit-by-the-reality-of-cancer-treatment/

Aftermath

The aftermath of cancer and the realization of surviving something so enormous is often overwhelming. I find myself spending days battling with each part of myself. One side is this wounded child who needs constant comfort and attention, the other side is this strong adult who wants to defend against injustice. Lately they have become rather extreme, often feeding each other. The adult protects the child in a way I never got as a child. But who is caring for the adult? And where is the balance? This is a fear that goes beyond just average fear; that I may never find that balance or anything resembling a comfortable life. As much as I despise complacency I sometimes want to embrace it if for no other reason than to feel less alone and less isolated and less judged by others. There is no one I fully trust in this world. All I want to do right now is scream and kick, but the adult keeps telling me to settle down. I want a mom to cuddle me and read me a story, but I am 35 years old. It's like age (and societal norms) robs us of our natural animal tendencies. It's not easy to deal with life when you spend each day thinking about death. I feel trapped. Every day I keep hoping to escape but to be honest, it is me that is my own captor and it is me that is my own cell. How do I let go of 35 years of me? And what happens when I do?

Dream About Eggs

I dreamed last night that all the girls in my class were sitting in the student lounge peeling hard boiled eggs. Natasha was doing it really carefully; dainty, and I think she had a tea coaster underneath, as if the egg were a little tea cup. Miriam was doing it very German (I'm not sure what that means but she was talking in German); I think she was singing in German at some point. Julia was picking pieces off bit by bit with her fingers and when no one looked she'd use her teeth and spit the shell on the floor. Vanessa was whispering sexy things (or sweet nothings) to it and ripping off each piece like you would pull a feather off a chicken or a petal off a flower you were mad at (“He loves me, he loves me not). I believe Lize was praying on or to hers and possibly dressing it up in little clothes. Jeremy (the only guy there) was holding Jasmins’—there were two. Lara was sitting on one egg and had a basket of several others (that seemed to be coloured in pastels, like Easter eggs) on her lap and she was trying to balance them all, and I think Shanty had hers balanced—one on her head another on her foot, and one between her boobies, maybe even one on her back but that might have been Zeb. Aya was smashing eggs somewhere in the back & stomping on them or throwing them against the wall, and I think Ally was watching her. Schuyler was sort of an egg herself and was uninterested in the egg peeling so she just sort of watched while standing on her skateboard. Emma was just peeling at random, and then said “I used to reach in and peel my own eggs.” And no one was surprised. I was walking around watching the peeling saying “I don’t eat eggs.”

Wolf Dream

(from a few weeks ago)
I had a dream last night that a wolf burst through my door and chased me down a hall & I closed the door just in time for him not to get in, but I knew my mom had been out there before & a wolf had "got" her. Then I noticed the other door was unlocked & there was no lock on it & the wolf was right outside. I just kept hoping that he wouldn't realize that the door had no lock.

Sorry I haven't been posting much lately. I just realized I've skipped over the first two months of 2011 without a single post. I think part was that I was away in CA for a month and got busy, and part is that I've been using my writing time to work on my play. Right now it is two plays that may or may not mush together. I'm also thinking about turning more of my dreams in plays, like I did with An Exercise in Futility in 2006. I have a few dreams I will post here as well that will become part of the play/s I am currently writing and maybe short plays of their own. Maybe I'll add more dance portions to the mix! ;)
M

Drugs

March 8th, 2011

In this weeks research (and no, I'm not over doing my research. I do some then I move on to watching mindless TV after hitting my head against a wall a few times--- just kidding!). This week I discovered that there is a conection to Tamoxifen reducing and/or eliminating the manic side of manic depression, aka bipolar disorder. I was diagnosed with this a million years ago as a kid & again as an adult. My symptoms subsided after my mom died.

Since getting cancer I've been on the roller coaster, or "cancer-coaster," and it's difficult to tell what causes what at this point. But I am more down than up. I keep telling my friends at school that I am really tired or depressed & they all respond by saying "Yeah, me too. All I want to do is watch a movie and sleep in." It doesn't help anymore mentioning it because 22 year old pot head students are all going to say they are tired, but they don't fully get what tired really means to a bc survivor (I do cringe when I use the word, but I'm at a loss here for alternatives).

Anyways, I searched a lot online & discovered of course that there are extremely limited options for anti-depressants while on Tamoxifen, and somewhere in my research I came across a drug called Modafinil that is used to treat people with sleeping disorders so they can get more energy & be awake. It stands to reason that if Tamoxifen is reducing and manic symptoms in the bi-polar patients that this Modafinil might reduce my depression symptoms and possibly increase my energy. So I Googled the two together to see if there are any connections or interactions and I found this article. It sounds like, not only will it increase energy (which in turn MIGHT help us sleep), but it also improves memory and brain function. For those of you with chemobrain you might want to ask your doctor about this one!


http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2796482/

Confession

I’ve got a confession to make: I’m a failure. All my life I’ve been failing at one thing, quitting another. All my life I can’t make a decision on my own that I really trust. I can’t work hard at anything, not enough, because I always know in the end I’ll fail, or my family will just laugh as I fall on my ass. They all expect me to fail. They know I’ll fuck up at some point and need money or help or something. So I never try stuff I really want to do; I never go all the way because there’s no point. I stay in school studying acting so I can avoid really going out and getting an acting job. I’m too scared. Because failing out in the real world of acting is really failing big time and I can’t handle that. I say I don’t want to be on TV or in films, but that’s all I ever wanted since I was a little kid. Falling in love with theatre was a fluke; I went to college for acting and theatre is what they taught and I fell in love with it. But I got to the top and then I graduated and I had no idea where to go next. So I got a stupid job in an office and I sometimes would take some acting classes or go to an audition not knowing what the hell I was doing. Then I got to New York; I got into this school and this one teacher noticed something in me immediately; something most people overlook. And because he saw it I got more confidence to let other people see it, and before I knew it I was at the top and I felt great. I was succeeding and my family was far away so they couldn’t shit all over it and remind me that I’m really nothing… and then I got cancer. I thought, ‘shit, I failed again.’ It was like cancer was my punishment for being happy and working hard for the first time in my life. But because I had created this strength in me and worked so hard, and because of that confidence I gained, I weighed it all out and the old me would have given up, but the new me didn’t. I got up and fought and I beat cancer. I yelled at every damn person at the doctor’s offices and I cried a lot, but I got through it. The thing is it’s not the cancer that made me better than I was before it’s the acting. The confidence I gained from acting and the fact that people at school saw me as a winner gave me the drive to keep succeeding. But… the cancer… it’s what’s made me feel weak again. I am so scared I will go back to who I was before I got to New York, before I got a taste of success and a taste of what it feels like for someone to support me. I keep thinking about this teacher who pushed me and inspired me to work so hard at what I love, and, on one hand, I am so glad that he did, because without him I would never have had the confidence that I could succeed against cancer. But on the other hand I am so terrified that he will discover that I’m really a failure and a fuck up. It’s one thing for my family to see me that way; I’m used to it, but for someone I admire so much to see who I really am and that it’s nothing good is just… too scary. I mean, I guess the cancer and the chemo and everything I’ve been through is something that reminds me daily to keep trying to work harder and be better; it’s not all because of my teacher. But all this stuff happened at the same time, or, like, one on top of the other, and I mean, I get scared about going into the real world at the back of the line behind all those other actors already out there, and even though I have talent, I still get really scared because what if no one else sees it like he did; what if I don’t stand out? Because I never really have, not for anything good. But, then, even with that fear, I remember how scared I was when I found the lump in my breast, and I think: ‘Shit, I got through that, what’s a fucking audition gonna do to me?’ It sure won’t kill me. And maybe it’s not up to some random person at an audition taking notice of thing I have that’s special; maybe now that my teacher showed me it’s inside me I can start showing it other people without being so scared. It’s the success inside me, and I guess I should learn how to share it with everyone. Maybe now I am all tapped out of failure. Maybe.

Changes

It’s like nothing has changed. My family is not fazed by my brush with death; they still dismiss most of what I say; act like serious things are nothing serious. Had I died I doubt it would have made much of an impact on them… the adults, anyway. I lowered my expectations so low, yet I am still disappointed. I came home from war and no one got excited to welcome me here. I find the comfort of being with my friends is helping me to ignore my family’s lack of apathy. I am an island, lost at sea, floating and floating… I find myself, back at the house I grew up in, feeling my mom all around me. She is everywhere; in the pictures on the wall, in the way they were hung, in the furniture, the food in the refrigerator, the boxes of random papers scattered everywhere throughout the house… the shag carpet, the wood paneled walls, and in the dolls on the shelves. She is this house. This house is her. I come here to find her, but she’s not the same, yet nothing has changed. Anywhere else I go I can imagine my mom here in this house, watching tennis on TV or watering her plants in the back yard, but when I am here I have to face that, despite her presence still lingering within everything she left behind, she is gone. Gone forever. And I am here. I am here, trying to smile through the disappointment; trying to cling to my sanity in the land of the insane; trying, with all my might, to be a better person than I was before cancer. Being in this house may not be healthy for me. I’m pretty sure this will be my last visit here. At least for a very long time. It is time for me to let it go and move on; to live my life for me and no one else. I know I needed to come here, but I don’t need to stay. I can choose my own path and it is not this. I am learning every day to be okay with what I do have, and if I want something I can simply go out and put all my strength into getting what I really want. I am an island, and I will float alone. If anyone wants to join me then great, but I’m not changing who I am for anyone but myself. Because, despite the fact that nothing has changed for my family, everything has changed for me, and I am determined to make the most of it. This place no longer defines me. My mom is here, within everything, but I am not. I don’t exist here. I’m okay with that.

Friend

The other day I was very lost. My mind was all scattered and I was dizzy, and I was trying to keep track of simple things but couldn’t figure out what I was doing. I needed help but wasn’t getting it. I went to the library and they were so rude. I felt like half my brain had fallen out and I couldn’t explain why I was so upset, I just was. I couldn’t explain what I needed and I wasn’t being talked to like I mattered and it was so difficult because I knew I was in a hurry but I couldn’t figure out how to go fast enough. It was like trying to fit together a puzzle with pieces from another puzzle. I was scared. I thought I was losing my mind. A friend of mine was in the library and I saw her and hoped that she could help, but when I approached her in the midst of my desperation she responded as if she were a wall of brick; she told me to “breathe” and then she just sat there like I was some crazy stranger. I wanted to die. And it struck me that—well it struck me later since, at the time I was barely able to see straight, let alone be struck by something. At the time it just crushed me— It struck me that my therapist is right: I choose the wrong friends sometimes. She told me weeks ago to stop being friends with this girl because it's not healthy and she is very negative and mean, which is the last thing I need. I said I’d consider it; that it wasn’t like I was best buddies with her but we have some common qualities, and when she’s not being mean and moody she can rather nice. But I see now that compassion for others is not one of our commonalities. This girl doesn’t want me to cry around her, and obviously my cancer, surgeries, and my recovering from the hardest struggle in my life is either too much for her to deal with or too deep for her to understand. How can someone who knows that I’ve been through battle and that my brain is damaged from it, treat me so callously? Even if she didn’t know me would she be meaner?

Honestly, it’s not much of a loss. She fucked me over several times in the past and never apologized, and she interrupts my stories or things I do to avoid hearing I was sad or to avoid being around me when I cry. It’s so immature; so selfish really. I thought we had so many things in common and that was nice. I felt supported by her for a while, but now I realize that she is much like who I was before my mom died, and I never really liked myself back then. But even then I had compassion for others. And I knew how to say I’m sorry when I was a dick to others. At least I learned something and I’m just letting it go; she’s not important enough for me to waste energy feeling sad about. She really is a damned bitch.

Resurrecting the Orange Bag or Why I Wanted to Die Last Week

Last week I was going to kill myself. I’m not sure now whether I was really going to or I just really wanted to. What I wanted was to stop feeling so hurt. For more than a week I was hearing things like “You need to be more feminine,” “The play you directed wasn’t good,” “Why don’t you use happier emotions,” “Show MORE joy,” etc etc etc. And in response to these things I wanted to fall off the face of the earth. How do the people saying these things not hear what they are saying? Then take into account who they are saying it all to? I have short hair—shorter than it has been since I was a baby—and I have one half-real boob, my body has been through hell & so has my mind and these fucking people (they were my teachers) are questioning my femininity and asking why I can’t be happy on stage!

So I’m asked if I’m afraid to access joy. OF COURSE I AM!!!! I’ve had fleeting moments of joy in my life, but never lasting joy, and every time I get happy something awful happens. Example: Happy kid-Raped, Happy kid-Abused, Happy kid-Constantly told how ugly & stupid I am, Happy kid having fun- yelled & screamed at or continually ignored &/or laughed at, I grow up, I get over that shit (or so I think), finally getting my life together- car accident, find a good job with kids & get really happy- my mom gets cancer, Think she’s OK & get happy with new boyfriend- he’s an abusive psycho & my mom’s cancer is terminal & she dies & I get a restraining order on boyfriend, So I move away to make better life & try to fit in – but keep losing my job, Move to NYC to fulfill a dream & get happier than I’ve ever been- I get cancer. Afraid to be happy? Why is that question even being asked, and furthermore, why didn’t a single person in the room say: “Well, she did just survive cancer. We should be glad she’s still in school at all.”

It’s not the first time I wanted to die or thought about killing myself in my life, and not the first time this year. I wanted to die many times during chemo- the loneliness and isolation, and the pain was often unbearable. And after my reconstruction surgery I was so depressed and never certain if it was the anesthesia or something else, but I almost did do it a few days after. I was alone again & no one seemed interested in helping me. I’ve been struggling all semester & in that struggle I’m learning that without acting I’d rather be dead & these comments were threatening my acting. It’s the one thing I have that keeps me going through this shit and I’m baffled at how the teachers at my school don’t get this. Last year it was far better; the teachers were far more considerate & they made the classes safer so I felt good about being there. Now I feel in danger when I’m at school; like anything they say will destroy me because I don’t know that they care. I knew my first year teachers cared either because they told me or because I could see it in their actions.

People may think I am so tough & strong, but I am sensitive &, as my therapist explained, I have this open wound on my emotions & the more negativity I get the less I thrive & the more I hurt. It’s just stabbing at an open wound. I realize most people can’t fully understand where I’m at in this experience, but I am not healed and I am very scared. I feel alone constantly and I feel ignored and abandoned. All I want is people to talk with and have fun with, whether it is for distraction or just to find joy that I can feel safe with. I hope that makes sense. It’s not that I really want to die, but I want to gain control over something in my life, I want to feel safe, and I wanted to feel loved. I don’t know who I am anymore & I go to school to be other people. To do that one needs to know who they are. It’s such a conflicting state. I was me before cancer & before chemo, but I’m not the same anymore. I don’t even look the same. It’s definitely a crisis with identity & I wish more people in my life could see that & cut me a little slack; just take it into account. Just because I was who I was before does not mean I’m exactly that way now. I feel like I am treated as if nothing has changed. But the fact is, EVERYTHING has changed.

Identity Crisis

The shame in my tears drips down my cheek,
Drops of fear and frustration landing inside my glasses
As my head hangs low so nobody sees who I am

Hiding is never easy;
Trying to cover who I think I was
From who I might become

I am no one
I am non
I am nothing

My lack of identity is binding me;
Shackling me to stifle as much emotion from surfacing
So I don’t show anyone the truth

The shame in my fear keeps me crying in private places
Crying when no one else is awake
Crying in silent

I have no identity
I have no reality
Who I was is lost

Who I am now is…

Hit

The realization that I really almost died this year; that I really could have DIED: it just hit me.

I read an article about James Franco a few months ago. He said that as a kid... or it was his mom saying it... as a kid he was afraid to die because he said he had too many things to do. I'm feeling that way. "One always dies too soon- or too late. And yet one's whole life is complete at that moment, with a line drawn neatly under it, ready for the summing up." At some point we have no choice; we either randomly die or we get ill & find out we are dying soon. I never thought about death as something that came by surprise when you were totally content. No wonder people fear death: it's truly scary to consider that it's basically beyond our control when or how we die. I'm afraid to plan my life out; to get happy or to get busy because if I died tomorrow I wouldn't be satisfied that I had lived a good life or that I'd been successful. I need more time to get things done and be the person I always wanted to be. For some reason I've always thought I was guaranteed tomorrow; that my life needed to come to some cathartic conclusion to end, like in movies. But it could end at any moment. How do people live each day knowing this?