I feel like I am on an emotional roller coaster.
One full of lows as deep as Hades and mini highs that barely register on the scale.
I hate fairgrounds and you wouldn’t get me on a roller coaster for love nor money, so this is not a joyful experience.
Cry Baby
I can’t stop crying which is very unlike me. I’m supposed to be strong and brave and inspirational, with a mask of humour and sarcasm, but at the moment I don’t feel any of those things.
In a previous life, I tended to cry if animals were hurt in movies or at a trashy romantic Hallmark movie. Took me years to watch John Wick after the first 15 minutes scarred me for life.
Now, however, I cry for no obvious reason, and what I mean is that nothing has happened right then and there to turn the taps on as opposed to having a potentially terminal disease. Once I start. just I can’t stop until bam, it just ends. And the mask is back.
Other times I cry because I can’t face what is to come and have never felt so alone. I spent too much time being Wonder Woman so that that is now how I am treated when it should be obvious to everyone, I am nowhere close.
No Other Choice
I am trying to plan for major surgery whilst feeling like shit with a cold, probably covid, and am struggling. Struggling to do anything, to do everything.
The teenager told me he was proud of me because I was so strong and brave. I said thanks but wanted to shout, “What fucking choice do I have?”
I wanted to scream “Help me!” Help me do the stuff that is wearing me out so that I am strong enough to fight this disease. Help me by taking shit off my plate, so that I can let go of my anxiety and look after myself better. Help me so that I can focus on me and be selfish for a while without feeling guilty as hell.
Help me with actions not words. What you see on the surface is not what is happening underneath. The constant nausea. The worry over every ache and pain. The fear of surgery, the pain, being in hospital.
And I cry again. Because I am scared. Scared I’m going to die. But I can’t tell anyone that because I have to protect them, shield them from the truth so that they don’t get upset. And even that makes me cry because who is protecting me?
No one it seems, because apparently, I have an invisible plane to do the protecting.
Hiding in Plain Sight
And then I’m back. To hiding. Metaphorically speaking of course. I wear my mask, my war paint, and continue as if I’ve got this. Because I have. Maybe. I am fierce and have the strength to get through anything. Because it’s what my family needs.
I spend time with my friends who are amazing, get cuddles with Peggy Sue (whether she wants them or not), take time for self-care (outside the house) and enjoy spending time with my hubby who I think may be too scared to let me out of his sight.
There are definite good days and bad days, and things in between. Days when getting out of bed feels like too much and is there really any point? And other days where it feels like I am wasting my time and could be, should be, doing something much more worthwhile that cleaning the bloody bathroom.
And yet it is the mundane, the ordinary that keep us going. That bring our lives back to normality. Getting up in the morning, eating, housework, watching season 467 of Greys Anatomy or one of a number of series I have going at the moment depending on my mood and the colour of the sky.
Things that make life worth living.
But for Christ’s sake can someone else make the god dam bed.
