Note: I debated for months whether I should reupload this particular post. I don’t honestly like seeing how weak I am, but this is something I keep telling myself I should do for my future self. So, my dear reader, one of my many moments of weakness:
I made the mistake of denying my emotions, believing that if I don’t deal with them head on, they would go away.
“On the contrary, iha, you gave your emotions more power over you,” my counselor told me.
I wanted this cancer blog to reflect only the good things throughout my treatment (and my life following it). What I didn’t realize, however, is that if I kept writing both the good and the bad, I could be looking back today at everything I’ve written and see how far I’ve progressed. That, by itself, is something that I should celebrate.
I realize that only in hindsight would I be able to appreciate the process that I went through and the small triumphs that I was too blind to see at the time. So here I am again, writing.
You’d think having cancer and going through chemotherapy would mean bleak and dreary days for the duration of the treatment. Sure, I won’t deny the days when despair would poke my slumbering depression like an annoying poke stick, but Life can be funny in its own way.
One minute it throws you down a hill with a huge boulder barreling down behind you, then the next, you’ll find hot demigod Thor a few meters in front of you. Hot arms, hot bod, hot accent–really, what choice do I have but to run faster?
Often, it is our own stories we find hard to write. Not because we lack the words, but because the words are not enough to describe the intensity of living every second in that situation. But in my attempt to chronicle the hell-paved road I have ahead of me, I will try.