The Oreos Didn’t Fix Anything
Sometimes I feel sorry for myself and eat Oreos. Today is one of those days. Relative to recent feelings of accomplishment, today sucks. I know that comparison is the proverbial thief of joy, but that doesn’t mean my brain can stop comparing.
I want every day to be a little better than the one before, but that’s not how it works. And the recent weather changes, what with the storms and tornadoes and all, have landed me in the land of elevated pain levels. Which makes me not want to move. Which depresses me.
Shoves Oreo in mouth.
Part of my problem is that I’m fundraising again. I don’t have words to describe how exhausting and demoralizing it is to need money to live while asshat billionaires have asshat far-from-billionaires convinced I’m the useless eater.
At times like this my mind goes back to the insurance company peon who said I didn’t deserve health insurance (and therefore healthcare). I know it’s bullshit—that she’s the reprehensible one—but that doesn’t mean that I’m unaffected. And that doesn’t mean there aren’t days when the bastards get me down.
I hope one day the brain tumor cells I donated to science save someone she loves. Partly because everyone deserves a life free of cancer, but mostly for spite. Because fuck her for living rent free in my head. The astrocytoma takes up enough space.
Eats another Oreo.
Another thing: some days I feel like an untouchable. Though I have plenty of evidence to the contrary, being 8 years out from diagnosis leaves the brain to wonder why I’m not dead yet. And if I wonder that, what must everyone else be wondering? Of course I don’t know, but my brain is very good at imagining people are tired of me existing.
Maybe it’s survivor’s guilt. If so, it’s more self-centered than I thought.
Maybe this Oreo will help.
The forecast says the barometric pressure should stabilize soon, so I hope my complex migraine will fuck off with the storms. It makes me crave sugar, and I feel like everything inside my skin is three sizes too big. I feel like the undersides of the skin of my left side have suffered rug-burn.
It’ll subside, along with the tongue swelling caused by black pepper and the oversensitivity to light and fragrance when the inflammation recedes. But until then, I’ll just have another Oreo.