I have been staring at a blank page for... ever, it seems. I have *so much* swirling inside me - churning, really - that I have the overwhelming, rather irrational, urge to throw up. It's as if vomiting would expel all of the retching, putrid filth inside, leaving me refreshed, energized, and above all, empty. Lighter. I would give anything to feel a gaping void where there is currently a roiling cesspool of anxiety. I'm not going to write about the myriad of issues pertaining to my current crisis, although my continually evolving relationship with cancer certainly contributes to this nausea. What sits like a rock in my gut is the crushing reality that there are *so precious few* in my life that do not have a major quantum shift taking place in their own worlds. I almost can't count the number of people I consider near and dear to my heart that are now in the midst of their own painful transformations, and it literally makes me sick to my stomach.
I suspect my turmoil might be a result of what can only be described as raging empathy emerging from my still-infant Inner Breast Cancer B@d@ss. I have become intimately familiar with raw, unbridled terror through this journey. It is a facet of everyday life. Now, though, many people I love the most must stare into the eyes of their own fearful beast. Just typing that makes my mouth water and my stomach turn. It really is harder to watch it happen than to live it. People shake their heads at me when I say that, but... well... they are wrong. I would rather live it any day of the week (and twice on Sunday) than sit meekly on the sidelines, powerless and impotent.
This empathy emerges, I think, from vivid memories of the worst of my meltdowns. I remember lying in bed at night, muscles rigid, trying to minimize my tremors so that Brian could sleep. Eventually, I would creep into the living room, curl up on the couch, and simply sob for hours. I worked so hard to keep the tiki mask in place. I couldn't let the people I love see me like that. It wasn't embarrassment. It wasn't a lack of trust. It was because there is so much pain and suffering in life; I could *not* add to their burden. In the dead of night, though, masks often get dislodged. Never before had I felt so helpless, so broken, so incapable of drawing another breath. There were times when I begged the fear to consume me; I longed for it to own me, to take away all control, so I could just let the current sweep me out to sea. Never in my life had I *not* believed in my ability to weather the worst. I knew me. I trusted me. I believed in me. Until this.
And again, I quell the urge to hurl. The gorge that rises in my throat, though, is not the floating scum of my own terror. It is the helplessness I feel knowing that many I love are now taking those same steps. Their story may be different than mine, but the result is the same ~ same, same, but different, all f#ck!ng over again. I know they are trying their damnedest to lie still at night, so others can sleep. I can feel them sneaking into their living rooms to rage and cry where no one can hear, even if only metaphorically. They are shaking and quaking on the inside while desperately trying to keep the tiki mask in place to protect the ones *they* love, because they see no other option.
But they are wrong, just as I was wrong. There is another option. They are not the first, and certainly will not be the last, to traverse the shadowy landscape of fear. They are a very few among so many that have fought and will fight these battles, time and time again. A single soldier, though, cannot win a war; it takes an army. So just in case someone reading this is standing in the middle of their own personal combat zone shivering and weeping and scared shitless, I thought I'd remind you; I've been through basic training, and I am still standing. I may not be a battle-hardened warrior (just yet), but I have stared down the most evil of demons and the scariest of enemies, and I have a lot of fight left in me, yet. You don't have to walk this alone. You don't even have to ask. I am here, if you want, and I will cross this minefield with you. It would be my honor.
And my salvation.
Just as long as we get to stop, sometimes, so I can throw up.
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