people keep saying
how strong I am and
I’m slowly starting
to believe them.
Tag: lynch syndrome (Page 3 of 6)
Sometimes when you’re trying to say words at someone to tell them something, it’s really hard to find the right words. But then when you’ve stumbled about looking for the words, sometimes that person, if they are a little bit special, will say some different words back at you, and those words will be even better and even more right than the not-quite-right words you said to begin with, and you know that that person understands you. Sometimes an unexpected person can explain what you mean much better than you can yourself.
I wrote a guest post for Ihavelynchsyndrome.com! If you’re interested in me blabbering on about Lynch syndrome and self-improvement and so on, clicky here: http://www.ihavelynchsyndrome.com/10-truths-lynch-syndrome-guest-blogger-sam-rose/#.VOeJJfmsVqU
I started writing something tonight (a potential guest blog post) then realised that I’m not in the right frame of mind at the moment to write it. I can’t deal with the subject right now. So I listened to myself, and I stopped. This is progress. Respecting my own feelings and doing the sensible thing for a change. I’ll pick up where I left off another day.
If you can’t see it,
covering your eyes
won’t make it go away.
So what will?
I’ve decided that flouncing in and out of weird moods triggered by, well, cancer-related triggers, is not good enough. I know I’m struggling to be positive but when I get into a funk, I get so deep into it that it’s like I lose sight of how and where I came in and it’s like I’m not even sad for the original reasons anymore, I’m just unhappy without knowing why. I think there are a lot of things I get upset about – what I’ve been through in the past, fear that I might get cancer again, feeling upset that so much has changed and I don’t feel like my old self anymore – I think that’s the biggie a the moment. (Why I’m struggling so much now, five years on, I have no idea.)
I’m sorry I’m a walking disaster and
I’m sorry that I want to show you
all my fault lines so you know all of me.
I’m sorry I’m cracking under the
pressure of a natural disaster.
I’m sorry if I ever make it sound
like I want you to save me.
I know you can’t.
I’m sorry if I’m a handful.
I press my palms together
and fold my thumbs
and close my lids
and I bow my head –
please don’t retreat.
please.
I can feel myself coming down
or going up, or moving in
whichever direction is the right one.
I don’t know how I’m doing it
or how to keep doing it,
but I hope I do.
I think I’m getting worse at hiding this.
This is both good and terrible.
Mostly terrible.
Actually all terrible.
I’m angry at the person I am now
because I’m not the same
as the person I used to be.
I don’t know how to change.
I could pick myself back up
but I’m only one person
and I don’t know how.
