I Am The Worst

I missed two days of blogging. I’m sorry. I’m the worst. It wasn’t something intentionally done and by the time I was reminded and managed to remember myself, it was too late to fix it and I felt ashamed of addressing it.

The last two days have been bad. My pain is near an 8 or 9 consistently and having to use my heavier pain killers makes everything feel muddled. In poor timing, my depression reared it’s ugly head and I went into survival mode. Sleep, get up, eat food, play video games, take meds and pain killers, sleep again. 

This hurts my relationships and I try to avoid this cycle when I can, but I can’t pinpoint the cause of my flare up this time, leaving me frustrated and more depressed. And frankly afraid.

That’s the part of living with a terminal illness that I’m not sure I’ll ever come to terms with. Every bad day, every symptom flare comes with the question of “is this just for now or is this my new normal?”. I know as time passes, the latter will become more common than the former. 

I don’t know how to manage this. They don’t hand out guidebooks for this sort of thing, since everyone is different and no two people react the same way. Some terminally diagnosed people thrive after they find out, others crumple under the weight of the knowledge that their days are limited. I’m of the mindset that it’s all a mind game. If I cave, it wins. If it gets my attention, it wins. If I can escape thinking about it while still taking care of myself, I win. 

I’m focusing on winning right now. I hope you understand, even if it means I pull away. 


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