And I felt like my heart had been so thoroughly and irreparably broken that there could be no real joy again, that at best there might eventually be a little contentment. Everyone wanted me to get help and rejoin life, pick up the pieces and move on, and I tried to, I wanted to, but I just had to lie in the mud with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes closed, grieving, until I didn’t have to anymore. [Anne Lamott, Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year]
I’m in a very strange-to-me place. I’m sure it’s the chemo, but after a time I sort of lost touch with the edges of me. I find day and night interchangeable and the only difference I can grasp is how bright the daylight seems…
I understand about side effects and the weird-ass way that they parade, but I am tired of feeling that even the thought of certain things is enough to make me need to lie down and hold onto something. It feels a little like my auto-pilot brain is navigating through a swampland.
And then, I realise that this may well BE my intended Experience.
So I try to keep holding on by just NOT letting go. No. Matter. What.
No one promised it would BE easy.
I love you, Currie