“I know you have cancer, and I am sorry. Really, I am. I thought I had cancer once, and it was awful. But look, your cancer is really starting to make it hard on everyone around you. You never want to do anything we used to do together because you can’t seem to focus on anyone but yourself. All I’m asking is for you to just get up and pretend you don’t have cancer anymore. That’s a lot easier for us all to deal with, and it requires way less from us personally. We have problems too, you know.”
I don’t have cancer. I have a broken brain, depression and anxiety. I hate using those words because it forces me to admit that I deal with something I cannot control. It’s not as understandable as cancer, not as inspiring to overcome, nor sympathy-inducing. You can’t necessarily see it, so it’s up to me to prove to you that it is as serious and debilitating as cancer? Cancer patients aren’t blamed for having cancer, and they’re not accused of trying to weasel out of responsibilities because of their illness. Why am I?
I’ve lost touch with my body, my feelings, and myself. Activities I used to love are painful and confusing, and I don’t know how to get back to who I am. All I know is that I’m doing what I can to keep moving. Grasping for anything to connect me to myself.