Depression

Dear sister, my other half, a deep depression has taken hold of me. I can't remember the last time I felt this horrible. I think it was when you came over to my apartment and talked me into going to A. C. Moore with you. We bought 'sea' stencils and redecorated my bathroom. A sea theme.

My three favorite things in life: the sun, the sea and the creatures in the sea ...

My tumor was caught in time, my mastectomy went well, and I'm on my way. I reached a milestone today - 50 days 'cancer free' and I feel like shit. I feel empty. The depth of my hollowness grows. As I write this post my inner flame grows quieter, and I'm so afraid it will continue to dim until it eventually ceases to shine.

Cancer, and its physical and emotional scars, has swallowed me; whatever fire, spark, I have left inside of me is dying, and shadows grow in great stillness as my mask of humanity slips. This joyless twilight blends each passing moment into a despondent land of forlorn memories.

Oh to be young and carefree again. Everyday I wake up and try to keep moving forward. I struggle to maintain the facade - that all is well. All is not well sis ...

I feel nauseous and the muscles in my legs hurt. The Arimidex will help protect me from having a recurrence of cancer. It's like a jail sentence without the possibility of parole for at least 5 years.

I am fading into a timeless anguish brought on by meds designed to protect me.

Protect, reject ... pardon my unapologetic attempt at a pun. Like all puns, it contains, in the brevity of its form, the twin potentials of greatness and ridiculousness. Self-indulgent as a dozen showers a day during a drought.

Showers ... warm heat, compresses for the edema. It's normal they tell me. I know, I know, this is my new normal and I'm still adjusting. It takes time they tell me.

Pain is inevitable. 

Surrender myself to God they tell me.

All I can think of is Henry Miller and his brilliant book, Tropic of Cancer.

No man is great enough or wise enough for any of us to surrender our destiny to. The only way in which anyone can lead us is to restore to us the belief in our own guidance. ~ Henry Miller

Surrender, dislocate ... If I could you know I would let it go.

Night eyes staring at nothing in my room, a sea of blackness (yes, a sea), and only the solitary beating of my heart reminds me I'm alive. Deafening solitude and only the company of my tired thoughts reminds me that tomorrow I will have another mountain to climb.

I am tired to my bones and beyond and my swollen eyes no longer see.

See, sea ...

In my dreams, I stand before the sea staring at the sea staring back at me.

Remember when we would go down at the shore when we were kids. I would spend hours by the water's edge building sand castles.

All castles made of sand fall into the sea eventually.

Daily pain is a part of my world, my new normal. I have learned to take a personal inventory of all that I have left. I mean I'm alive and kicking. I don't know why I am feeling so despondent. I can't breathe. I feel like I'm being pushed and pulled at the same time.

But even within the dark side and strife, there is a seed of renewal called life.