Giving Up My Ass
One of the great ironies of a terminal cancer diagnosis is that it makes me want to live a little more and be a little happier and kinder for as long as possible.
So the thing that’s killing me is also making me better.
I know. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.
The last couple of days have been pretty good mentally and physically. Surprisingly. I have increased range of motion in my right shoulder and can feel the anxiety and depression armor cracking. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this human.
I finally watched A Star is Born this weekend. Still no crying, but plenty of feels. Especially when Jack starts drinking again and says very demonic things to Ally while she’s taking a bath.
Twisting the knife when she’s profoundly vulnerable? Cinematic poetry and so very relatable.
But of course it’s all more complicated when addiction is involved. No spoilers, in case you haven’t seen it but plan to.
Anyway, that scene did a little something for me, giving me some much-needed clarity. See, a couple weeks ago during a fight, Dan told me I gave up. No exaggeration. Those were the words he used. At first it filled me with white-hot rage.
Then I wondered how he could believe something so false and absurd when I’ve done nothing but try, since forever.
Flashback to that time Rodney called me a deadbeat wife, closed the garage door and tried to lock me out while I hauled trash to the curb. (Don’t worry I took my keys with me because he had already proven he was a petty bitch by then.
Don’t get me wrong. Dan is no Rodney. But they share an unwillingness to deal with their demons that becomes my responsibility because I don’t want the relationship to fail.
My conclusion, after some introspection where I wondered if I had been the problem all along? I am fucking not the problem. It’s taking me way too long to realize that though.
I’m doing my best to live by the “do no harm but take no shit” philosophy these days. But I’ve had brain cells irradiated.
I don’t have anything figured out, but for the first time since my diagnosis I don’t feel like I need to. I get to do things for me. Like not go to outpatient PT when I’m fucking exhausted.
Givng up my ass.*
* Comma intentionally not included.