I’ve started several blog posts that I haven’t finished. Percocet took over and I couldn’t think. And everything I write seems ridiculous. Trite. Meaningless.
I don’t have anything to add to the cancer narrative. I can’t add any original observations.
I’ve started reading two breast cancer memoirs. I finished the first chapter of one of them and now I can’t decide if I want to continue reading it. Her story is compelling and she’s honest, and I’m sure it is a worthwhile read (several people highly recommended the book), but I really can’t relate to the beginning of her story.
She went to a strip club when she found out she had breast cancer.
While many women have written about their experience, certain things about the disease are very personal. And how you feel about your body is an issue with this disease. How society feels about your body is part of this disease.
All of this makes certain aspects of the disease hard to talk about. Near impossible for me. Im happy to tell you about drains and medications and tissue expanders and chemo. That’s the easy stuff.
I keep dreaming about strange rooms, houses, apartments, filled with stuff, so much stuff that I keep realizing there is more stuff in them than I thought and someone or people come in and take the stuff away. In the dream, I can’t decide what to do, but I’m surprised at all the stuff and surprised that people want to take it away from me, and half the time I’m not dressed properly so I can’t do anything because I’m trying to find my clothes.
It’s something like that.
6 thoughts on “Must. Be. Meaningful.”
(((Hugs))) to you.
Thank you, Brianna.
A shrink I saw for a while told me that when you dream about rooms — or buildings in general — you’re dreaming of your own psyche. In which case, I am not surprised to hear that yours is near-bursting with lots and lots of stuff. The Percocet (etc.) may just have unlocked the doors: while under the influence, you can’t walk down the hallway and pretend anymore that it’s just blank walls to either side.
I think our conscious minds (even the conscious minds of complex people) are really very simple, and that makes them relatively easy to deal with and thus tempting to devote ourselves to; but as long as we pay attention only to them we don’t realize how relatively uninteresting they can be, beside the chaos and tumult and complexity of what’s going on behind those closed doors.
Definitely feeling tumultuous.
I have found that the body image issue and how we relate to our bodies through a breast cancer diagnosis is the most thought about and the most difficult to write about. It’s my goal to do so. But it is so very very difficult to put into words. Love and light to you!
You’re right. It is so hard to write about. I hope I can manage it. Much love and light to you as well.