Writer, researcher, music lover, cancer survivor with CMMRD ("double" Lynch syndrome)

Author: writersamr (Page 28 of 45)

I Lost the Game

Remember that game from when we were kids, where the whole point of the game is to not think about the game and when you do, you have to say “I lost the game”, causing everyone around you to also lose the game?

And then after that, all you can think about is the game, even though you hadn’t thought about the game in a long time and the only thing that set you off was thinking “hmm, I haven’t thought about the game in a while, I’ve been doing really well”?

That’s what thinking about my cancer history is like.

It’s a fucking tedious game.

I thought I’d been doing well. I had been doing well. It’s just been a bad week is all. Next week will be better.

The Dream Machine

It’s a radiotherapy machine you have to work yourself – yes, you, as the patient. There is a nurse standing next to me as I lie on the bed
part of the machine. And I mean bed in the loosest term possible – bed, as in something you lie on, not anything providing comfort.

Continue reading

K

I will ask if you’re okay and give you
permission to tell me the truth,
the whole sorry, harrowing,
despairing, disarming truth
and you’ll give me the same
liberties in return.
I’ll accept your words
as your reality, no judgement.
We are friends who
are free, who
are human
in the most
brutal ways, we
see the things others
avert their eyes from, we
experience life like we’re on
fire, like it’s about to end, like
we’re on the run and we feel
it in our backs, in the
fractures, in the
curl of our spines as
we feel the weight of our
baggage and we fight it, fight it, fight it.
We are young and strong in all the best ways,
we adventure, we have fear, we are
misguided and we don’t care. This is how
we write our stories, with every
step, with every journey,
with every tattoo,
with every exhale.

Confessions of a six year old

1. Sometimes I don’t brush my teeth when
my parents tell me to.

2. Sometimes I daydream when I should
be listening to the teacher.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9. Sometimes I worry I’m not doing enough
naughty things. Maybe I’m supposed to
have more things to confess about.

10. Sometimes I lie to the priest
when I go to confession because
six year olds don’t have very much
to confess at all. I don’t know
why I have to do this and
I’m sorry I came
unprepared and
empty-handed.

Give Up

you know me less and less –
the more I say the less you
say, the less you care, the
more I give up, I give up,
I give up.

And I’m sorry if I haven’t
tried hard enough to
make you understand,
to make you try at all
but it’s exhausting and
gets me nowhere and
you don’t change, and I
can’t change or forget
or get over it – probably
ever – so I give up, I give up,
I give up.

my mother says I am impressive.

my mother says I am impressive.
what does that mean?
I yo-yo between
the ridiculousness of her words
and the incredulity
that she would say something
that she didn’t believe, therefore
it must surely be true.
my mother says I am impressive.
parents are biased.
parents see what they want to see.
parents are wrong sometimes.
but sometimes I still believe her
and want to thank her
for relieving my guilt with her praise.
my mother says I am impressive.

Written on Friday 1st
January, 2016 at 21:50

Dream

Last night I had a terrible dream
I can’t remember what happened
but it left a shadow of itself in my
mind, and I know, I just know
my body owes my brain an apology
for all the trouble it has caused
and are you sorry, body, are you
sorry yet?

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