Don't mind me folks. I'm just doing some thinking. Some of you may or may not have a heard, I ran into myself in the mirror yesterday. And, although I'd like to say there was a devilishly handsome face staring back at me, I can't. What I saw in the mirror yesterday made me consciously aware of what's happening to me.

I don't want to look in the mirror again. An yet, here I am. Staring at myself again. I can't help it. It's like a train wreck that I can't turn away from. It's some kind of morbid fascination. I've always been curious. And, my stance on death is now skewed because of my experience with both falling so far into depression a few years back, and the sheer number of times I've almost been nailed in almost all manner of situations.

The way back when depression snuffed everything out. Everything was all grey and gone. But, yet there was death. The only thing with colour. It was like a call. A song. It was rest. Like going to sleep. Calm, relaxing.

And my own run ins with various happenings over the years, have given me a sense of humor about myself only I seem able to handle.

The fact is, I can't handle this. At the same time, I can't look away. It's a curiosity.

When I pull out more strands of hair than I normally would, I know that the cells responsible for them are being killed. My skin's gone pale because of lack of exposure to sunlight in the winter and this is amplified by cells dying off.

My skin's going sunken. Lack of solid nutrition because I can't eat much. I don't have the stomach for it, and generally, anything that tastes goes down hard. I'm still a big person. A few extra pounds easy. Love handles for the romantic.

But I can see the changes, as everything seems to kind of just sink in. And my muscles are going too. A combination of atrophy from lack of activity in the winter and my own sitting on my ass and sleeping.

My eye sockets have rings, dark grey, almost black, a combination of my own stubborn efforts to fight by getting up early in the morning and working my job, and sleeping all day because I don't have the strength for anything else.

It's terrible. I feel terrible. I feel sick, almost all hours of the day. It's the absolute worst on injection days. But afterwards, the poison lingers. It spreads. I have to drink water. Water's a cleaner. Good for the human body. But that's all I can drink.

And my head. My head seems to be the only thing left of me that's intact. but I know otherwise. I'm consciously aware that I'm being damaged mentally by this. It's leaving scars on my psyche. It's like.... two halves. One half, I'm falling apart mentally.

All these strains. These little worries, about my own life, amplified a dozen times over by this. And my own worries, about what currently transpires in my family, my business, and my friend's lives. These worries, I cling to them because they are my life, my anchors, my reality. Something to fix and fight for, to make right. To make it work. But it's too much.

And my other half, whatever intelligence it is, my sense of humor and my creativity, my writing and stubborn optimism that still finds a way to persist, even when, one morning, I wake up, and I can't. I don't even get up out of bed. I just turn over, look up at the ceiling, and I say fuck it. I'll just lay here till I die.

It catches that. Makes fun of it. And I still write stories. I write this.

I am not afraid to admit that I finished a story yesterday, a monumental 78 pages in one day, nearly 11,000 words, for a friend. A friend, who I will never meet, a friend that I would wager I could fall in love with, and I bet, I already have.

I finished it because it was a challenge. It was fun. But I pushed myself to finish it. Because I'm aware that I'm dying. All around me, I am, physically dying. I'm dying, because a bundle of living cells, about the size of a coin, in my head, threatens to kill me.

I'm a mess. I'm losing track of time, losing track of days. I've only been on this for one week. I've had two shots. And I'm a mess. And tomorrow, I go in again, for another round. Another cycle they call it I believe. And it will be bad. I won't be able to stand on my own. I'll collapse in bed and sleep the entire day, and then wake up, at some point, exhausted, but at the same time, having slept so much that it's bad for me.

Winter is a long way from over. And, if I survive this, I'd wager, come winter's end, I'll be off chemo and my tumor destroyed. And, it'll have taken a chunk of me with it.

I'll have to start over from scratch. My strength, my health, my routine. My head. And I can see it all now.

All of this, everything around me, is a tightrope. It's stretched to its limit, and it's waiting to snap like an elastic band on too many twists. I'm not holding the rope.

I'm walking it. And I'm not even afraid. I'm just walking, because I'm walking. I'm walking because that's the only thing left to do. Like sitting on a diving board. You go up, and stand over the edge, and then suddenly realize how high it seems. How scary it seems. And you can't turn around because of all the other kids behind you. They'll laugh and you're more afraid of that than anything.

So you jump, because that's all you have left.

Jesus fuck I felt like ass in the morning. ^^^ I fixed a bit of that, I am happy to say. Today, not so bad as it started out. Little bit more of a reason to shuffle onwards now!

Glad to hear it

Exactly.

Quote from: Sandtrap on December 14, 2014, 11:16:55 PM

Quote from: Korra on December 14, 2014, 11:16:21 PM

Exactly.

Ah...

Ha...

Quote from: Sandtrap on December 14, 2014, 11:17:36 PM

Quote from: Korra on December 14, 2014, 11:17:15 PM

Quote from: Sandtrap on December 14, 2014, 11:16:55 PM

Quote from: Korra on December 14, 2014, 11:16:21 PM

Exactly.

Ah...

Ha...

Aha...

Haa...

Quote from: Sandtrap on December 14, 2014, 11:18:51 PM

Quote from: Korra on December 14, 2014, 11:18:07 PM

Quote from: Sandtrap on December 14, 2014, 11:17:36 PM

Quote from: Korra on December 14, 2014, 11:17:15 PM

Quote from: Sandtrap on December 14, 2014, 11:16:55 PM

Quote from: Korra on December 14, 2014, 11:16:21 PM

Exactly.

Ah...

Ha...

Aha...

Haa...

Aah...

I don't know where the fuck my head is tonight Korra. Honest to god it feels like I'm about to fucking keel over and die. But I've got one stubborn little piece of humor left.