I still don’t have a date for my surgery. By the time I got a chance to call Friday afternoon the office was already closed for the day because of course, it makes sense to close at 11:30 on Fridays…

Blarg.

Work has been going well. It’s been helping to keep me grounded, if just barely. It helps to keep things feeling “normal”. I still go to work. Days are still mildly crazy. I still see all of my patients. I still have cancer and I still save lives.

Ox and I tried having a date night last night. I wanted to go out. I wanted to get wings without having to drive halfway across town to a location that was nowhere near any of the other things we had been hoping to do; grocery shopping and such.

We found a place online that seemed promising. The service sucked. My food was not up to my standards of wing-ness. Though, to be fair to them… I have pretty high standards. Overall I wasn’t impressed and felt like it was a waste of the money we spent. We had to wait so long for the food and then the bill that by the time we left I was too tired to want to do the shopping. We went home instead. I slept at the house rather than going back to the apartment to be with the kittens.

It was nice, sleeping next to Ox. I so rarely get to do that now. I didn’t spend the night alone, trapped in my own darkness. I woke up next to someone I care about.

Despite feeling like the money spent on date night was a waste, it was nice to be out. It was nice to try to have a date night even though I have cancer. It was nice to feel normal and not defined by something no one can see. No one around us knew. I could pretend to be a normal person. I cling to the things that make me feel normal right now; that let me pretend that all of this isn’t going on. I can pretend that I’m not waiting for a call about surgery. I can pretend that I’m scared.

I’m just a normal person with a normal life and things will be ok. I don’t think pretending all of this isn’t going on is healthy, but I also don’t know how to confront or contend with all of the emotions going on so I don’t know what to do.

I know a lot of it is still a rat’s nest inside of my head. I’m not defined by my organs or lack of them. I’m not defined by sickness or lack of it. I’m not defined by my resolve or when it wavers. Strength isn’t defined by a lack of tears or the absence of fear.

I know all of these things and yet I can’t fight the evil voice which isn’t so little anymore. It has strength and power which gives it size. It’s not little whisperings which I can tell to go fuck themselves.

“Good girls don’t get cancer.”

That’s one of the things it says to me, stated like a fact, full of confidence and conviction. It doesn’t have to yell those words at me. You don’t have to yell when you know you’re right. That’s the type of voice it uses right now. It knows it’s right and that I can’t do anything to change it.

I don’t know how to fight Evil Voice right now because there’s a part of me who agrees with it. Trust me, I know it’s fucked up to have that type of mentality. I didn’t ask for cancer. I didn’t actively do anything to get it. But saying, “It’s not my fault,” isn’t enough to fight Evil Voice. I can’t say, “Good girls get cancer,” because that’s untrue. “Good girls fight cancer” doesn’t work because I don’t feel like having surgery is really fighting… I don’t know what to say to fight back as so I’m left feeling like I’m losing another part of myself that I didn’t know was such a part of my identity.

The whole “good girl” thing comes from the bdsm aspect of my life which may or may not be appropriate to write about, but fuck it, this is my writing and this is where my brain is at. When Ox called me a good girl during sex the other day I completely lost it. I was furious at him for calling me a good girl. Furious to the point of tears and breaking down in anguish because I’m no longer what I was; what I should be. I’m not a good girl anymore. How could he say that to me when I’m not deserving of that phrase.

Good girls don’t get cancer.

All of this sucks.

Who am I? Who do I want to be? What defines me?

Where do you start with questions like that?

I guess, first and foremost I’m a sister. To my brothers and my half-sisters. I’m there for them. I’m still a daughter to my mother and father. I am a partner to Ox. I don’t feel like I’m a very good partner at the moment. I feel like I take a lot of energy from him. I cry a lot. I talk about stupid things like zombie apocalypses and last wills and how I feel unworthy. He says he doesn’t mind but if I’m tired of myself then I don’t understand how other people wouldn’t be tired of me, too.

He says I’m still “His good girl,” which helps, though I don’t know why. Maybe because it takes away my perspective. His view of good and my view of good can be different. My having cancer doesn’t change his view so his view of “good” is still valid and allowed while my view of “good” needs to be more definitively defined so as to combat Evil Voice.

When I talked to my instructor she said as caregivers, most of the time it’s easier for us to give care than to receive it. I feel like there’s a lot of truth in that statement. I don’t want to be a burden to people around me. I can’t be the happy and optimistic me I normally am and I know that bothers people. They want to help. They want to do something, but there’s nothing for them to really do other than let me try to swim through the tidal wave of feelings when they come.

Most of the time I’m so tired of feeling that I feel nothing and there’s a part of me wondering if that’s the cancer fucking with my thyroid or if that’s legitimately how I feel. And there’s still yet another part of me who wonders if it even matters where the emotions come from or why they’re there. The end result is the same regardless of the source. Maybe it’s the fact that it is winter. Or the holidays. Or that it’s a day that ends in “y”. Who knows.

There is this pervasive feeling of… something. I’m tired of figuring stuff out. I’m tired of caring. I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of explaining. I’m tired of people. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not good enough. I’m tired of defending my self-worth against myself because I’m the only one saying that I failed.

I’m a failure. I’m a fuck up. I’m too much. I’m too little.

No, I’m not, damnit. Fuck you, Brain.

You know what? Yeah. That’s exactly it. That phrase right there is the thing I didn’t know I needed to say. Fuck you, Brain. Fuck you and all your thoughts and emotions. Just… fuck you.

Angry. I guess that’s what a lot of it is at the moment. Anger and frustration and helplessness because none of this is in my control. Fuck you, Universe and all your trials and “adventures”. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of your games. I’m tired of proving myself.

I’m angry that now I finally have the insight to want to talk to mom about things she went through that I can’t. Fuck you. Fuck you for putting me in this position after taking her away from me.

Fuck you for making me think that I am going to owe this doctor my life and be in his debt. Fuck you for the mentalities you fostered in me. Fuck you for making me an INFJ who’s constantly aware and considerate and understanding of others but completely unable to provide or apply the same understanding to myself.

I’m always in a different category simply because I’m me and I’m sick of it. Fuck you. I’m no different. Ok? I’m the same. I’m a fucking human, too, just like every other person on this fucking planet. I’m a human even if I don’t have my thyroid. I’m a human even if I have cancer. I’m a fucking human, too, and I’m allowed to be angry and frustrated and tired and not ok.

I’m allowed those things. I’m allowed to feel those things.

You can’t take that away from me, Universe. I’m still human. No matter what you do to me, no matter what you take away from me, I will always be human. I will always be my mother’s daughter. I will always be my brothers’ sister.

I think that’s a step in the right direction. I feel better for having found it at least. I’m human. Cancer can’t fucking change that.

Yeah. That’s right. Fuck you, Kevin. You can’t change me; the real me. The human me was human before you and will still be human after you, you son of a bitch. Fuck you for fucking with my life. I won’t let you make me think that I’m less than awesome. I won’t let you tap me out. I won’t let you win because you don’t deserve to win.

So what if I’m not a good girl anymore. Maybe you’re right, Evil Voice. Maybe I’m not a good girl anymore. Maybe I’m an awesome girl now. You want to play this fucking game? Fine. I’ll destroy you, Evil Voice. I’ll crush you with every fiber of my being. I’ve fought too hard to get to where I am for you to hurt me like you used to.

I don’t need to be “good” anymore, Evil Voice. I’m better than simply “good”. So go ahead. Keep your stupid word, you selfish bastard. I’m graduating, up-grading, transforming, evolving.

Thank you for pushing me to this point, Evil Voice. Thank you for making me realize I’m better than good.