This summer almost killed me.
Waking up, in general, had quickly become a nauseating, disappointing task with which I was burdened on a daily basis.Â
On July 10th, 2014, I woke up and I wish I hadn't.
I snoozed my daily alarm set between the hours of 8am and 10am, briefly thought about which pair of white denim of mine was least stained and what I'd eat during my lunch break.Â
All of my white denim was unsalvageable, so I selected a sundress instead.
I did not feel well that day. My stomach hurt. My eyes burned. My jaw was tight. I could feel the ominous, but all too familiar sting of tears emerging throughout my entire body.Â
I tingled in the worst way. I could feel every part of me and I hated it.
Three of my closest friends were experiencing one of the most breathtaking destinations in the world- a trip so many women (specifically women for some reason) spend their lives dreaming about.
Two of my friends didn't check on me to see how I was doing or even acknowledge how lonely they know I must have felt, which made me question every definition of friendship I've ever known.Â
I tried to be happy for my friends. I tried not to hate them. I still try not to hate them. I tried to justify mistakes and consequences, wrong and rights. I questioned longevity and equality and friendship and power and trust, permanence, impermanence and if there really were "good" and "bad" people and what what was I.
What I wanted in that moment on July 10th, 2014, was selfish. I didn't want to be able to think anymore. I didn't want to be anywhere anymore. I didn't want my only friends to be my parents and middle-aged co-workers, but they were the only people I had this summer.Â
I physically ached. I remember sitting on the edge of my bathtub staring aimlessly at the hair follicles on my knees. My bare tailbone pressed against the wall of the tub and I shook with disgust upon remembering my ability to feel. I no longer wanted to feel. AnythingÂ
When your mind's in a place like that "There's always someone to talk to" and "it's never too late to seek help" mean nothing to you. They're just empty words and words lead to more words and more thoughts and fewer answers and I wanted it all to end.Â
I thought about it. I really thought about it. For a while, actually. Long enough for me write a few thoughts down, weigh the pros and cons of my action and do some self-reflecting.
Why I didn't is something I'll never be able to fully verbalize.
I do, however, know it was a feeling, but not the kind of feeling I hated. I let myself explore the body I had known for so long both in the mirror and with my hands for what I thought would be the last time. As I approached my lower abdomen, I embarrassingly remembered that I was once inside that same part of my mother's body twenty years ago and that amazed me.Â
I came from my parents. They created me with their love and faith in the Universe (or God) that I would survive.
And Hallelujah, I survived.Â
We all survived! If you're reading this, you survived. My mom survived brining me into the world and my dad survived the emotional/financial realities that four children would eventually bring his way.Â
My mom was downstairs making her daily smoothie. She'd made a smoothie every day since her diagnosis in early 2014. She wasn't just a survivor. She was still surviving and she needed all the love and support I could give her.Â
My mom did not need her youngest daughter upstairs thinking about doing whatever I was thinking about doing. That was not going to help her.Â
So I guess the summer almost killed me, my mom saved my life and Herceptin saved (is saving) my mom's life.Â
Thank you, Herceptin, for keeping my mom around to remind me how lucky I am to be healthy and alive.
Friends or no friends, I'm here and I'm staying.Â
stormborns
vaporwave
