I feel like I’m trying to cello-tape my thought processes back together; in a rainstorm, using cheap, non-branded tape.
I have three draft posts, Three. None of which are post-able because if viewed by another human they would read as one long deep, anguished howl of frustration, terror and pain. Aimed at, (in no particular order):
People who write cryptic and/or negative statuses on Facebook. Don’t just don’t. Goading people into caring doesn’t work, as you are proving, as NOBODY has asked you to illuminate on the subject.
A Government who is monetarily pushing the development of self-driving cars. Really? That’s really what this world needs? This, the same time it approves Fracking because “we are fast running out of natural resources”. A. says I know the world doesn’t correlate so neatly…..
Humanity in General because frankly, it looked like as a species, we lost ours prettily spectacularly last week. I promised Dad I wouldn’t write on the subject.
It’s car-crash city over here people, it ain’t pretty and more upsettingly not one draft is funny.
So what happened? I got my ass handed to me by Chemo Round 3. I’ve spent the last 10 days as close to lobotomised as I ever hope to get. Not that I’ve ever hoped for that to be fair; perhaps an Eternal Spotless situation but never an actual Lobotomy. Though if actually lobotomised, I’d hope you could knock out the nerves too. Dumbness and Pain. That’s what happened.
I’ve stared off into space a lot. I’ve watched a lot of kitten videos – on purpose. That is what a lobotomy feels like.
Turns out Chemo is the Silverback and this Beta needs to remember that. It’s like King Kong vs well, anything. It would be awe-inspiring if you weren’t left feeling so crippled.
You can’t fight Chemo, Chemo doesn’t fight fair. Case in point – it’s the hottest week of the year, I have had to surgically attach myself to a hot water bottle AND endure Hot-flashes. Chemo doesn’t fight fair. It also has a thousand resources you don’t have.
It is more like a mugging. Chemo mugged me; of my health, mental capacity and well-being – gave me quite the kicking too. So I’m licking my wounds and feeling sorry for myself.
Turns out like any other wounded animal, scared and in pain, I lash out. I’ve become bitter and bitchy. Hence my soon to-be-deleted rant drafts.
I’ve had to ban myself from Facebook, I’ve been itching to write troll-like comments all week. These self enforced restrictions hearten me somewhat, I guess good Polly is still in here somewhere.
On PollyGosh, I aim to be either; funny, interesting or informative and above all truthful.
But I get to choose the aspects I write about and sometimes I should choose differently. Nobody polices me, if I don’t want to think about something, I don’t write about it. However, like with grief, I’m not sure that’s going to work out that well.
I forget that this all started simply as a documentation of my Cancer, treatment AND MY FEELINGS ABOUT THAT, all my feelings.
I thought by choosing to not write about Chemo, I was being in some way noble. Protecting others but I think I was protecting myself.
This post isn’t funny, interesting or informative but it is truthful.
I’m struggling at the moment. Stuck in a prison of my own thoughts, I strayed away from the path I normally set myself and got scared. I don’t think I’ve been scared before.
I also don’t know how I am going to submit myself, in less than 2 weeks, to do it again.
Also, when you’re sick and bald. You look sick and bald. Which isn’t strong or beautiful. It sucks. It sucks when you can’t recognise what’s staring back at you and you’re too weak to put your mental armour on.
This post has a defeatist tone that I’m not going to apologise for. This is the truth of all this. For this moment in the process, this is the truth and to not write it would be a massive disservice to the me now and the future me.
Luckily I have 2 Goliaths on my side, they keep me in check.
Dad has possibly transcended Sainthood. Songs and epic poems written about the depths of his wonderfulness.
A is still the only person to make me laugh and he maintains that I look gorgeous. Which is the sweetest lie you can tell someone who looks like a Sphinx Kitten (cat video obsessive). He’s the tough cop, truth-teller, backbone and I think he’s the best.
Normal services will, no doubt, continue again shortly.