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Clutter Lover; Overwhelmed by open space

wow. Sometimes when I come to update, (more often), the textbox feels like sweet relief. Like an open waterfall of cognition. Right now, it has been too long and I am overwhelmed by the prospect of all that I want to write. I kind of hate that quote, "God only gives you as much shit as you can clean up", because, why then; are there so many people unraveling all around us? I still respect the quote somewhat, as long as I can stay on the right side of it, and not begin to resent myself for not holding true. I refuse to underestimate myself anymore. God sure must not.

It's funny how one can know something without acknowledging it. So in October, when she went on the 'chemo break', I knew in the back of my head that this was not a remission, and that the cancer would be growing at whatever rate durring the break. So when we were sitting in the exam room, waiting for the doctor, and my mom said, "I'm going to be pretty crushed if they don't tell us the scan came up clear", My heart struck with fear. I kind of already knew that wouldn't  be the case. Still; When the doctor told her that she could quit chemo at any time she felt was right, It hit me hard. My mom said she wasn't looking to quit chemo anytime soon. The doctor said we're only looking at a 20% chance that the chemo will work this time.My mom decided to look back into trials. There's one she's already elligible for, we have an appointment this wednesday. That's hard too. The doctor said she would most likely only be elligible for phase 1 or 2 trials, which is scary. Phase 1 trials are focused on finding the toxcicity levels of the drug being tested. Phase 2, I'm more comfortable remaining unclear on at the moment.
I mean, even though the cancer has been coming back, there is something juvinille and stubborn in the depths of me that insists on holding to hope, however distorted it may become.
Perhaps I've grasped the fact that Deep Bllue was mostly a product of my creation, pasted on the borrowed handsome face of Jake. I noticed that he took me off his friends list on my birthday last year. Seriously, the first thing I did on my birthday was notice that 2 diferent people removed me from their friends list, and that my buddy's profile now included wedding photos. This especially stings to me because, 1. I should never have noticed that inoccuous bullshit, and 2. They have to make a special visit to my profile page in order to unfriend me. I couldn't help but wonder if these were the only visits my page had received all year. Thoughts that serve to sabotage my confidence. I fought hard, the urge to send them new friend requests. I have to at least *seem* like I never noticed. Sext buddy got married in March. We spoke last in February. I liked him a lot, because he was actually my friend, and he allowed me to be real, and let him know some of the raunchy truths of me. I asked him that if he ever had to stop talking to me because of a serious relationship, to be up front with me, and say goodbye. I would completely understand, and deeply appreciate that goodbye. This is when I noticed the pattern of how a man betrays;  just as bitterly and shiesty as a woman, but in a very different way.
I've relagated my longing, to include only the most legitimate lost bonds. No more using my imagination sado-massochisticly. I've always thought that people who use the term, "dead to me", were being really harsh. Maybe they've always understood things I'm now freshly learning. Like, how every relationship in life will eventually die. Even if the other person is still living. I think I miss them with better perspective when I mourn the relationship as though it cannot be reconciled. I get too wrapped up in figuring out how to contact them, and what to say to bring them back to my life when I don't accept that it's over. It's a difficult thing for me to do. Almost as hard as when I thought that forgiving required me to no longer feel hurt.
My mind works better when I write more. -That makes sense too. I hold myself more responsible for completing my thoughts and ideas when I am writing. I still try to allow some form of freedom over it though. That way, I can let myself drop a subject line that isn't taking me where I intended to go. Or the flipside of that; Allow myself to try to catch reference a bunch of different thooughts as they all happen at once, in an instant.  I freestyle better when I do it all the time, and let the dumbest shit come out of my mouth before i get anything profound. I used to write more poetry.- Playing a song on repeat would make me feel *compelled* to write something.
It's more difficult to write when the thoughts sting to capture. I'm a quirky enough person though, maybe that's just a challenge in disguise; to find creative ways to make the heavy stuff more fun. I just thought of spongebob squarepants jellyfishing when I wrote that, and I almost didn't mention it because I'm not really a fan of the show, or that joke. (Lmao)- but it was a perfect example of little ways I can have fun with stuff.
I was trying so hard to make the house look spick and span because we were getting it appraised. As usual, I kept getting distracted by colorful supplies for future projects of every kind- Especially sewing, with bright ribbons, buttons, and zippers. Things reserved for specific ideas, and grab my attention in new ways. I had been keeping my ribbons upstairs in my sparkly blue cylinder box, and remembered that I kept a whole drawer full of ribbons downstairs; Which I decided to transfer them to, because I was running out of room in the blue box. Strings of irridescent sequins that were once a part of a belt that lost its elasticity; I recently gutted it for its good parts, and for a sensory exposure exercise, covering myself in the loose fibers, indulging in a feeling I've actually grown to loathe. It was really good. I got a lot out of it. ;
I decided to be strict with myself, and put all these beautifu things away, in one place where I would eventually go to break it all out and surround myself with these colorful odds and ends again.
Giant spools of elastic, felt patches shaped like leaves, flowers, birds, and frogs. Spools of satin cord, spools of several different colors and sizes of ribbon, as well as several random whisps of ribbon from places. Various lengths. Enough to make a flower out of. This most beautiful white lace, that I even tried to dye a tiny piece blue, and it stayed stark white. Wide zippers that I bought in 2013, that always make my eyes sparkle. They weren't really that espensive or anything, They just made my heart jump whenever I'd llook at them and imagine the coin purses I was going to make with them. It was so hard for me to put it all away without starting something just tiny, just for a minute.... I did it.
Just to have someone throw it all away. It would have been better if it went to someone else who would appreciate them, instead of the trash.
I can totally see a new advantage of the way I naturally do it- Having several small collections of similar things in different places. That way, If something happens to one of those stashes, it doesn't devistate the entire collection. Damn it I feel so stupid for putting things away. It was completely against my nature, and I love my clutter. I should fucking take a picture of this desk right now. It's absolutely rainbow. All of my special things in that little set of drawers was thrown out in the split second when I left to grab dinner for us.  I guess, the more I think of it now, it must have been meant to be. I even decided to be so kind as to stop and drop off our many bags full of give away items at the goodwil on my way home, because I was already having trouble seeing out the back window and I figured we would be adding to the stack. Those ten minutes or so, could have been the difference between them being there or gone when I got back. Of course I didn't get *everything* I'm finding little things here and there. It's not all gone. Just mostly =/ It's kinda cool that out of everything in our entire basement, that is the only stuff I'm really trippin on. If I thought hard enough, if I was there, if I actually knew what all was lost, maybe i would feel different. Probably worse, because they just came in and threw away everything, including the clean laundry I just washed and hung on the rack outside the washroom. It was completely absurd, like removing a hand to get rid of a hang nail.


Jan. 17th, 2017 03:59 am (UTC)
I just lost my roommate last August to cancer; actually it was congestive heart failure that finally killed him. He had a heart attack several years ago that was probably a side-effect of the chemo, and his heart was so weakened that by the end he had only 18% of his heart function.

By now, I actually don't know if I'll ever get over it; it's weird living here alone in this place we shared for 25 years or so, and I'm talking to myself a lot these days.

I don't blame you for holding onto hope; sometimes it's all you have. It's hard to let go, and I feel lucky that Richard had probably ten years or so from diagnosis until his death; for most of that time he was in good spirits, although he was in some serious pain toward the end.

One thing that has helped me has been finding bereavement groups through Gilda's Club; I don't know if you're in a caregiver's group at this time, but it might not be a bad idea.

Edited at 2017-01-17 04:00 am (UTC)


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