I’ll admit I’ve been wallowing in self pity something chronic for weeks now. It’s growing on me like a fungus or a mould, I scrape it off, it grows again more dense and with more determination to cover me until I’m no longer myself I am only a rotting, weaker version of a human that once had the hopes of being something more. I fester. In my job and in my personal life, if I can call it life, I stare blankly at a wall all day until it’s over, feeling cheated by fate. Surely fate does not want me here, surely fate knows that I’m better than this? That I can do more than this!
There are a few things in this world that bring me joy, a few people who understand how I feel and listen when I’m losing it. I love nature, I could walk all day in a forest, the fresh air soothes me. Gardening focuses my mind when I can’t walk, there’s something ridiculously therapeutic about digging through the dirt to nurture life. The sun shining when I’m not at work. Not being at work. Fattening food and most importantly family, a mother, sister and aunt to be precise. We celebrate birthdays together, Christmases, we go on spa days, holidays, a little odd posse running across a car park in the rain with bad knees, laughing the whole way at the others running into the wrong door. Giggling over tea and a Danish pastry, digging into steaks and discussing how we’d share everything if one of us were to win the lottery!
I think my happiness would die if anything happened to one of them. What if I did? I would be even more nothing than I am now. I’ve always considered myself a puzzle, each piece a person, an event or a personal trait. When something bad happens, I lose pieces. There isn’t much of me left, so I tried to make my own but they didn’t fit. I feel like there are only a few people I can show what’s left of me to and without them no one would know me, I’d lose the last of my pieces and would cease to exist.
Today my aunt was called in for tests, lumps were found where they shouldn’t be and now I’m thinking of the big C but I can’t say it. It might not be, they don’t know anything yet and if it is, it could be easily fixed with complete removal.. could. I don’t want to think that it could happen but really it will happen eventually and I’m scared for them all. Foolish to presume that because I am the youngest that I am slightly more invincible than them but I don’t think I care so much about losing my life as I do about losing my mind without them to keep me sane. To suffer forever without them would be worse than dying but to watch it happen would be worse still.
I keep thinking that if one of them were to go before I got married then they would not see my wedding, my potential children, them growing up and hearing stories of us first hand about ringing wind chimes in Devon thinking they were doorbells, and walking around in new slippers that are still tied together. How we loved to shop and eat and be together and that it was one of the few joys in life to have someone to talk to, to trust with your secrets and to hold your hand in hell until the fire burns out.
I hope that everything will be okay, I hope that nothing comes if this and that it is just a scare and nothing more.
I’ll hold her hand in hell until I burn out.