love

Letters to Mom 017: Happy Late Mother’s Day

Standard

I didn’t write on Mother’s Day.

I had a dream about mom the night before. I still remember it.

I was in a house. I was with other people though I don’t remember who they were. I remember that I knew them, but I’m not sure if it was family or close friends. We were supposed to be going somewhere, but mom had said she would be visiting and I really wanted to see her before we left the house. I knew I wouldn’t be able to see her again for a while. It was important that I be there. It was my one chance.

I remember the feelings of anxiety and worry. Mom was running late. Her flight was delayed and there was traffic and all of these things keeping her from getting to the house on time. The people I was with were getting annoyed with me because we ourselves were going to be late if we didn’t leave soon, but I kept asking for more time. Just a few more minutes. Please. She’s so close. Just a little longer…

I remember in the dream I was almost in tears but the other people wouldn’t wait any longer. It was so hard, so heavy, to close the front door, to turn the lock. It sounded so final; the door closing. It was like I had allowed myself to give up. It was me giving in. It was me walking away and not waiting. It was me caving to pressure.

I wanted to wait. I wanted to be there. I wanted to see my mom. But I wasn’t staying and that felt like a betrayal. I was making the wrong choice and I hated it but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to leave with them.

There was so much confliction inside me and still, I turned to walk away from the door. But just as I did there was a knock.

I knew it was her. I knew mom had finally arrived and I didn’t care if I was late to whatever it was I was supposed to go to. I turned around as fast as I could and unlocked the door, throwing it open without regard.

She was there. My mom was there. I threw my arms around her and hugged her and cried.

I heard her say my name over my tears.

I KNOW she said it. I can still feel it in my chest even though I honestly can’t remember what it sounded like.

I just… I know my dream was real and that mom is still here, in whatever way the Universe is allowing.

This Mother’s Day my mom gave me a gift instead of the other way around and I still cry when I think about it. Fucking tears…

I’m grateful for my dream.

Thank you, mom, for everything that you did in life and everything you continue to do for me. I’m sorry I didn’t write on Mother’s Day. I’m sorry I still get sad and have hard days like Tuesday.

I’m sorry I’m not doing better even though I know writing that will make you frustrated with me because I know I’m doing amazing right now. I’m doing so much better than I ever have before and that makes me angry and sad at the same time because I wish you were here so I could show you; so you could be part of it. I wish I could call you and tell you about everything. I wish you could come visit and watch me beat people with sticks at SCA practice and meet Ox and just… everything.

I love you, mom. I wish it hadn’t taken your death to make me the adult I am now. I wish we had had more time. I wish I had thought to ask you all the questions I have now. I wish I had listened to your stories more. I wish I knew more about the hardships you faced while you were growing up. I wish I had you the way so many people still have their mom, but at the same time I know we’re closer for what we went through.

Thank you for raising me. Thank you for the dreams I have of you. Thank you for helping me get through the hard times.

Happy late Mother’s Day, mom.

I love you. Forever and for always.

The Handkerchief of Hope

Standard

This is the entry I wrote for Writing Battle; my first ever writing competition.
Posted January 17th, 2026, at 9:35pm.

This is for you, Mom. Proof that I kept, and continue to keep, my promise. <3

I sit cross-legged in my computer chair, fortunate enough to have survived the super Saiyan flu of 2026, though my body still has complaints. 

Time Travel. Champion. Handkerchief. 

How poetic, I thought. No redraws necessary. 

Instantly I go to the days of knights and fair maidens. The gallant good sir, off to fight fierce dragons, leaving his lady to await his return. I could see it… Young love, pining away at a window, struggling with fear, worry, doubt; the “what ifs” that grow like thorn-covered vines. Vicious and unforgiving as they scale the castle walls of the mind. 

Oh, and how her mother, the queen possibly, endures alongside her daughter in the unknown. Maybe the queen shares a story of her own handkerchief given in hope of a safe return. The moral being that waiting requires an unsung strength. How sometimes survival is unnoticed, uncelebrated, but heroic nonetheless…

Yet, that was not the end… It evolved, in all places, during my therapy session, not dissimilar to a Pokémon. 

I could bring the story forward. To here. Now. The present day. 

What if… instead of a fair maiden, there is a young girl, her boyfriend enlisted and deployed. What if it was about the crushing uncertainty of never knowing if there will be a “next time,” and it is this fictional girl’s mother harking back to tales of do-gooders. Her soft, steady voice explaining how maidens gave their “favor,” their love, held within a piece of cloth. How it isn’t about the object providing protection, but rather how the object holds meaning, becoming a tangible thing nurturing an abstract concept. Purpose. 

Mmmm. Yes… More solid on the time travel bit… Nice. But also… a tender thread of thought within my own mind quietly asks to be seen. Viktor Frankl and Man’s Search for Meaning. How even in the most horrific, unsurvivable conditions, life can in fact, continue. Persist. Endure.

All one needs is a reason, a purpose, to do so. 

And so… here we are… The thing to which the thread of thought led…

There… has never been room for -my- story. It isn’t nice enough, clean enough, Instagram selfie enough, to be part of most conversations… 

I have blogged… for years… I have “BBs”, blogging buddies. A few of us have exchanged addresses. I went so far as to cross-stitch gifts for some of them. Artwork in fabric made of random colored thread, my love and care made physical. A network of support, watching my story unfold as I wrote it, post by post; day by day. 

It was fun. Connective. Fulfilling. And so I continued to post, unflinchingly authentic in my lived experience. Unapologetic for my existence. 

Then, on April 4th, 2016, my world ended…

My mother died. 

At the age of 27, I found myself standing outside her hospital room, a room we were supposed to be discharged from. We were supposed to go home. I was supposed to be her caretaker… It was going to be different and scary but as long as she was alive we would figure it out… together…  

But that wasn’t my path anymore…

There was no path. There was only holding her hand one last time, now devoid of life, and promising that even though I didn’t know how, that I would keep going. For her. Somehow… Some way… 

I called Dad. Even divorced, he deserved to know. I held myself together as I looked out at the mountains surrounding Las Vegas, and said words I never thought I would ever say as the setting sun shone on devastating truth…

“Mom died.”  

I imagine that moment is what soul shattering feels like.

This… horrific feeling of nothingness… consuming my entire being, eviscerating my heart, as those words left my lips for the first time; speaking an unbearable reality into being. 

Not grief. Not anger. Not rage… 

Just… the absence of everything. Of meaning. Of purpose. Of reason to endure…

And that was my life for what felt like countless eons. 

Then… one random day, months later… a letter arrived…

Words, handwritten on stationery like ye olden days of mīn own lifetime, harking back to when cards meant something…

And with it, a handkerchief…

Mama Spike, one of my BBs, had read my post about Mom’s death…

She wrote in elegant script that she grieved with and for me. How she knew a handkerchief could not fix the agonizing wound in my chest, but it could catch my tears if I let it. It could hold my grief and sorrow. It could be there with me in the moments where I felt alone and lost and screamed in anguish. 

It is a physical, tangible thing that I can place into someone else’s hands, like a memory from the movie Inside Out, and say “This is one reason I didn’t commit suicide.”

So, dear reader, my fellow human, I regret that I have no tales of brave knights and fair maidens within this text. No triumphant hero returning from a harrowing deed to their one true love. 

Instead I have the story of me; a 37-year-old motherless daughter, approaching the decade mark of the death that destroyed me, and yet, somehow, I am still undeniably alive. 

If this is my own story to a “worthless”, priceless, piece of fabric…

I wonder…

How many champions have fallen because they were never able to hold the love of someone who cared for them? 

I… could stay silent, scared to share for fear of being “too much”…

Or… like a Noble Monarch Butterfly… I could set my story free to change the weather of the world in whatever unknown ways it might…

Like Hercules at the Crossroads I stand before Vice and Virtue. Comfort and Truth. 

I draw a deep, steadying breath…

“This is for you, Mom. For every essay you ever proofread. For every time you said ‘I believe in you.’”

…

“YOLO, bitches…” 

And thus, I cast my own handkerchief into the Web, having faith. Purpose.

002: Fuck Depression

Standard

Here I am again. Writing. The last time I sat down to do this was February. 

I am through the healing of skin cancer. I have facial scarring on my cheek. That’s still hard to deal with. People still look away from me. It doesn’t sting as much as it used to but it still hurts in its own way. A reminder that I am different.

In the span of these months I was hospitalized for suicidal intention. I know that’s hard for people to read. Sometimes life sucks.

In june my godfather died. Two weeks later Ox’s dad died. A week after that my cousin, who was more like a sister, was taken off life support. The following Monday I had to be back to work, being productive. I tried really hard to be ok, but the truth was I wasn’t and the harder I tried the darker it got inside my head. 

I was placed on short term disability. I went to therapy a lot. I was put on different meds. The best one was Prazosin to help with the night terrors I was having. Being able to sleep was the start to my recovery from crippling depression.

I’m not recovered fully, but I am better than I was and so maybe that counts for something. 

Through therapy it was decided that I wanted to be closer to family. In two weeks I had my stuff packed in my car, cats included, and moved to Ohio to live with my dad. 

I don’t know what that means for Ox and me. We haven’t really talked about it much. We text every so often but it’s not about anything deep. It’s not about the hurt I know is there or the unanswered question of if we are still together. Maybe one day I’ll have it in me to ask those questions, but today doesn’t seem to be that day. 

I was told that I needed to be selfish for a little bit. I need to find myself through all of the wreckage of loss.

What do I want?

I can feel myself pulling away from that question. 

I want my mom back. Forever and always, I will want this thing that I can’t have. Another phone call. One last hug. One more, “I believe in you.”

We celebrated my birthday yesterday. My halfsisters were there with their significant others. It was a “good” evening, and yet I wanted to cry so many times. I didn’t ask for a celebration. I didn’t want one. If I were truly being selfish I would have said no, don’t do this painful thing that reminds me my mom is dead. But I didn’t.

I know they mean well. I know this action comes from a place of love, but I am so tired of people thinking that everything is ok, that I’m fine, that these things don’t hurt.

I want my mom and I can never have that again. It makes everything else seem so pointless and hollow. 

I want to feel safe. I want to feel like my life matters and has a purpose. I want to be financially stable. I want to have my own apartment because it seems like I’ll never be able to own a house. It’s like I fucked that up when I was younger, made stupid choices and now that dream, too, is unattainable. An apartment is more realistic. 

I want a stable job that doesn’t drain the little life I have out of me. 

I want a bdsm relationship. I want to be polyamorous. I want to be me. 

I guess that’s what it comes down to. If I were selfish, I would be wholly, unapologetically me.

How sad that I don’t know what that even means any more. Through all of the loss and struggle and hopelessness, I don’t know who I am in the aftermath. 

So I guess this is the first step to finding myself. Writing. Hearing my own thoughts. My own fears and wants. My own selfishness which is really just another way of saying existence. We all have wants and needs, and I know on some level mine matter. 

I guess I’m hoping that one writing at a time, one small moment at a time, I’ll hear that voice I know is there. The one that got beaten down to nearly nothingness. She’s there, somewhere.

I want her to know I still care. I’m still here. She still matters and I love her.

Evening Reflection 013: Facing My Mirror

Standard

The past two months, maybe longer, have been a continuous disaster of my own making. I am left lost and confused with my identity in shambles. While there has not been a death in my family, like the loss of identity I felt when mom died, there has been an internal death. The death of myself as I knew me; of what I thought I was, who I thought I was. 

It’s a complicated topic. One I have been avoiding. Writing is my mirror and I haven’t been willing or able to face myself. I don’t know if I’m any more ready to do it now, in this moment, but I feel strong enough to make it to the outcome regardless of what it may be. 

I can face my painful truths and acknowledge my actions. I can face the death of my identity and begin the work of finding who I am in the aftermath. 

This writing is that start. 

To begin… what did I do that was so bad it killed who I thought I was?

I cheated on Ox. 

There is so much context removed from that statement. So much I want to say, not to justify, but to try to explain. To try to beg understanding from not just the outside world, but from myself that I’m not the type of awful person that word is typically associated with. 

Discontinuation symptoms were still going on. Ox and I bearly had a relationship at the point all of this happened. I had spent 3.5 years asking, begging, crying to be heard; to be understood. “I feel like the video game is more important to you.” “What makes our relationship significant?” “How are we any different from roommates?”

All of these things… all of these interactions and questions and attempts to express that I wasn’t ok… seemingly brushed aside or invalidated. 

None of my failed attempts at communication nor the true or perceived dismissals of my emotions justifies hurting someone I did and still do, care deeply about. I tried to not say anything about my actions, knowing that if I were honest about what happened that the life I had been trying to piece together, hold together, would fall apart. 

I couldn’t keep it a secret though. I couldn’t keep talking to Ox on the phone, or the few times we would see each other, and not admit to what I had done. My silence was making me sick. I wasn’t eating. I wasn’t sleeping. I was hating myself more and more. And so yeah… I told the truth. Late, but at least in the end, I owned my actions. I hold onto that. It wasn’t found out through snooping on my phone or hacking my email. I faced the consequences of my actions, and I hold on to that because it feels like one of the only things I have to hold on to. 

That moment, my honesty, was the start of true hell. Ox said, texted, and wrote through email several hurtful things. None of it I blame him for. All of his feelings were justified. All of his responses understandable. The question of how could I? Did the four years we were together mean anything? “Fuck you”. “I hope I never see you again”. 

Eventually, he released me. If you’re into BDSM you may or may not understand the level of hurt that can feel like. While we did not have a very strong D/s dynamic or a true BDSM relationship, it was the knowledge he released me from everything. The loss of our friendship, being released from the whole of his life… more than any other comment or phrase thrown at me… that one word, the knowledge of what it meant, hurt the most. 

For nearly a month, Ox and I didn’t talk. We separated finances. There were only a few things that needed to be resolved at later dates. As the time frame for those things drew closer, I reached out through email to see if I needed to continue covering some of the financial aspects.

That led to more open, receptive, and less emotionally reactive communication. Ox and I ended up seeing each other to talk about both sides; yes, even my side. 

These conversations were hard. I felt, and still feel like my emotions don’t matter. I’m the one who caused all of this hurt and devastation. I do not deserve compassion, empathy, understanding, or love. 

I deserve to be alone, lost, and crushed under the weight of not only failing my most supportive partner but of failing myself as well. 

Ox opened up to me during those conversations. He explained what the past 3.5 years had felt like and been for him. How he felt like he always had to be strong for me and hold me up. I never wanted to be held up. I wanted to be held close, and I told him that. 

I told him I didn’t know he sometimes cried when I wasn’t at the house. I didn’t know he felt like he couldn’t share his feelings with me because of all the crap I endlessly have going on in my life. I wanted to know how he felt. I needed that emotional intimacy with him and the lack of it was part of why I felt we had no connection. 

We have talked through so many things in the weeks following that initial email asking about car insurance. 

We are together again. The other night we agreed we are still engaged. 

We are working to figure out how we both fell short of each other and to work to make version 2.0 better for both of us. 

I don’t feel like I deserve this chance. I don’t feel like I deserve Ox’s love. I feel unworthy and that is what is currently holding both of us back. So… here I am… writing as a way to figure myself out. 

I don’t know who I am. I broke all of my values and morals. I’m a liar. I’m a cheater. I am honorless. I am unworthy. 

That’s how I feel. I am less than dirt even though I know I’m not. 

So… since I didn’t know how to find my way back to myself, I went to the internet to see if there was anything for “finding yourself” or “identity crisis worksheets”. I didn’t really find anything I connected with until I found some writing prompts for “Who am I?”

I read through them briefly. I may not like all of them, I didn’t read all of them, but I do feel they will help me start to find my way back to myself. So… this is my first writing in this attempt. There are 31 prompts on the page I found. We’ll see how many of them I completed. 

Prompt 1-31: Who’s your biggest critic? Who do they say you are? Why?

I am my biggest critic. No one, ever, will be able to hurt me worse, emotionally, or mentally, than myself; the only possible exception being Ox when he said he never wanted to see me again, or when he admitted to telling his mom, “Fuck that bitch.”

I say I am worthless. I say I am a failure for this transgression. I say that there is no recovery for my character. My morals are broken and will remain so forever and there is no hope of me ever being to undo the damage I have caused. 

I say all of these horrible, awful things inside my head. I say them when I’m alone. I say them in between my calls at work so I cry in between helping people fix their financial lives. I say them as I cry myself to sleep. I say them while thinking of all of the things I could do to my physical body to make the pain I feel inside slightly easier to live with. 

I don’t want to hate myself, but it’s really hard not to. And there’s no support or anything online that I can find for the cheater because our emotions don’t matter. The emotions and feelings leading to the event don’t matter. The anguish after doesn’t matter. No one cares about my struggle. No one wants to hear it. So I’m left alone to figure it out, but alone I am left with my own demons; my own “Crazy Lady in the Attic” who is more than glad to point out how awful I am. 

So how do I not hate myself? 

I told my therapist everything. 

Her first comments were, “There is no judgment. This is a safe space.”

I broke down. I cried, legit cried, for the first time. I felt wounded and broken and insignificant. 

“The first thing you need to do is forgive yourself.”

How? How can I forgive myself? 

Ox has said he forgives me, but how can he? How? How can anyone do that, even though I myself have forgiven previous partners for maliciously going out of their way to sleep with other people simply because they knew it would hurt me when they later would corner me in whatever room were we in and tell me how [insret name] was better than me? 

I have forgiven other people so much, but how am I supposed to do the same for myself? 

My therapist is primarily a Christian counselor. She respects my faith and she understands that I am not offended with she brings scripture into our sessions. I am able to view and hear the word “God” and apply it to my own life as “universe” or whatever term I feel suitable to use.

In our most recent session, she mentioned how we are supposed to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. 

Love your neighbor as you love yourself is conversely love yourself as you love your neighbor. It reminds me of all the times I have had to step back from a situation, almost look at myself as another person, and ask myself, if someone told me my own story, how would I react? 

Would I tell any of my friends that they were horrible people unworthy of love or compassion if they came to me in tears, questioning who they were as a person? 

No.

Did they mess up? Fuck yes. But that doesn’t mean at their core they are a bad person. 

We all mess up. Sometimes it’s a royal A+, top-notch type of fuck up. That doesn’t mean everything good in their past is erased or irrelevant. It doesn’t mean they are incapable of future good things. It doesn’t mean they are unable to learn and grow and move forward. 

So why? Why do I say these horrible things to myself? Why do I deny myself forgiveness when it has been freely given by the person who was hurt the most in this situation? 

Because I failed myself. I think that is my answer. 

In hindsight, how did I let myself get to that point? It’s not that I didn’t think anything bad would happen. It’s that I didn’t care. I felt so worthless and hopeless in my relationship, that I didn’t care if my actions messed up the relationship or hurt Ox. I was so incredibly tired of hurting and feeling alone and feeling unheard when I did try to talk about not being ok and I finally didn’t care. I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I just… didn’t want to hurt. 

I look back at the events leading up to my cheating and I see how I could have handled things differently. I could have tried to talk to Ox more. I could have said, “I want to break up”. I could have said I was talking to someone. 

The guy I was talking to knew about Ox. He knew I was in a closed relationship and “all I could offer was friendship”. He knew all of these things about me, and yet, when we met… it didn’t stay just friends and in the moment I didn’t care. 

It sucks knowing that I am capable of such apathy, which for me, is the opposite of empathy. I normally care so deeply about others and connectedness and harmony. And at this moment in time, I didn’t. I didn’t care about anything other than not hurting. 

How do I forgive myself for that? 

That is what I am struggling with. 

I know that I am human. I know I am not perfect even though some people view me that way. I know that I am not enlightened. 

I am not a good nor a bad person. I am human. 

I am. I exist. I live and struggle and succeed and fuck up. 

As I started in my About Me page. This isn’t a highlight blog. This is my life and sometimes I completely and totally fuck shit up. 

This is one of those moments. I don’t know how to move forward from here. I don’t know who I am in the shattered pieces of who I was. 

I do know that I am my mother’s daughter and I’ll figure it out. 

I know that I am human and I will figure it out. 

I know that Ox and I do truly and deeply love and care for each other and WE will figure it out. 

We’re working on version 2.0 of our relationship. We’re identifying the issues we had and actively working on fixing them, on both sides, together. 

There’s so much more I’m sure I need to type about, but I’m trying to take this one step at a time rather than focusing on trying to fix all of it all at once because that’s not how it’s going to be able to work. This is one problem that is going to need time more than anything to heal and grow past. A lot of it is going to be inner work on my part. Self-awareness of myself. Ox has things of his own to work on, too. We both are committed to communicating better so both of us feel loved, cared for, and valued. 

One step, hopefully, one prompt at a time, I’ll be able to find solid ground and be able to work towards self-forgiveness and self-acceptance. 

I am capable of awful things, but I’m capable of amazingly awesome things too. 

Universe, please guide me to the lessons I’m supposed to learn through the hardship I have put myself in. Please help me find meaning in the pain. Help show me the truth in who I am. Please help me learn to love myself as I am and not the broken ideal I had in my head. 

Mom, please don’t hate me. Please still let me be your daughter even though I fucked up. Please be disappointed in my actions instead of being disappointed in me as a person. Please still love me. Please believe in me like you used to so I can believe in myself and my ability to figure it out. I love you. Forever and for always, no matter what. 

Daily Post 220: Being Done

Standard

Hey Chromebook,

I’m getting used to talking to you. I’m starting to enjoy it. I’m starting to find my new normal here at the apartment; my morning routine and flow. It’s a nice feeling.

Things are better and yet slightly worse at the same time.

The better…

I went to the gym again and had another pretty awesome workout. That was at 5am yesterday. I came back home afterward and rested for a couple of hours with the kittens before getting up and taking care of stuff. I went out and bought a bookcase from Walmart; the same one I have bought four times now. Maybe this time I’ll be able to hold onto it for a while and not have to donate it or get rid of it because of moving. I also bought my first phone card for StraightTalk. I still have to add it to my phone, but I have a few more days to get that done.

I went to GNC and bought more energy drinks for the week. They had the flavor I wanted so it’s been nice this morning, sipping on the flavor I’ve wanted for a while. I went to Verizon to try to take care of my last phone payment, but they’re still sort of shutdown with covid. You have to wait outside to be helped, so I opted not to do that yesterday. I also went to Michael’s to see about getting some new fabric, but they literally had no fabric which I thought was weird for a craft store.

Since that was a bust I went to PetSmart to get cat litter and a small bag of cat food. The kittens are almost a year old. They’ll no longer need to eat kitten food and the 16 pound bag I bought a while ago is almost out. I wanted to get something new for them to try since finding a flavor they’ll both like might be a bit of a task. With how they were sniffing and chewing on the bag when I brought it into the room, I think I made a good choice.

I went ahead and got gas for my car, so that task is taken care of. I then came back to the apartment and made three trips up the stairs to get everything into the apartment. That’s after already working out. I totally let myself feel like a bawce for getting everything inside on my own and not waiting for Ox to get off work.

I assembled the bookcase. Ox came over as I was finishing it up. He anchored it to the wall and we began putting my things away. He took apart my computer desk. We moved the entertainment system and my TV and Playstation into my room. I also got the replacement bed set up; that was Monday night. My room got painted Sunday, so everything in my personal space is coming together nicely. I like it so far. I still have some things to do; going through this, finding a home for that… but for the most part, it’s ok enough for me to feel good about being in here. I like it.

The not so good stuff…

Jon and I fought Monday night. Sunday he cooked dinner and asked me to do the dishes. I loaded the dishwasher, taking out some of my pots that he had put in it. I want my pots hand-washed and I told him that shortly after he moved up here. He didn’t have to wash them if he didn’t want to. He could leave them for me to do since I know I’m kind of being weird about how I want my stuff taken care of, but please don’t put them in the dishwasher.

I didn’t say anything to him Sunday night. I took my pots out of the dishwasher and put them back in the sink. I took care of all of the other things, set the dishwasher to run, then went to bed since it was 8 and I had to be awake at 2. Already past my bedtime. I could finish washing the bigger things tomorrow when I got home.

When I did get home, Jon was in a mood. I couldn’t tell what was wrong. He helped carry the box that my bed was in upstairs. He said we needed to talk. When I asked what we needed to talk about he said he didn’t know how to talk to me. That left me feeling defeated and I hadn’t been home five minutes yet. I figured it had to do with the dishes. How dare I don’t be perfect and have everything completely done.

Jon showered, leaving me to stew in my own head for a while. We ended up sitting on the balcony.

He said that coming home and seeing dishes in the sink made him feel like he didn’t matter. Three pots and some minor dishes that couldn’t fit in the dishwasher made him feel like I didn’t care.

I asked if he noticed that I had done anything at all? Did he not notice that I ran the dishwasher? That I had loaded it and that I had told him he didn’t need to worry about my pots since I want them to be hand washed if they’re used? He said he hadn’t inspected the sink before he went to bed, only that he had gone to sleep with dishes in the sink and woke up to the same situation.

It made me feel like nothing I do or did mattered. It wasn’t perfect so it wasn’t good enough.

When I asked if being here was better than Florida he said, no, it’s not.

That hurt. A lot. We kept fighting, neither of us listening to the other person anymore. My effort wasn’t good enough. Taking his dog out for him didn’t matter. Paying for all of the groceries didn’t mean I cared. Letting him use the paint and supplies I had bought didn’t mean anything…

It sucked. I sucked and was just as bad as his previous roommate even though I’ve been doing all of these things to prove that I’m not her.

The argument was a bit of a breaking point for me. If nothing I do proves anything, then fuck it. I moved all of my things out of the living room and into my room. I like it more this way. I, personally, feel more secure. I am surrounded by my things. Things I have spent money on or gifts I have kept over the years. These things matter to me enough to have them and I want to be near them and now I am.

Jon and I didn’t talk yesterday. We work together today for 8 hours. I’m concerned about it being a shitty work environment. Shortly after I woke up I sent Jon some messages.

Me: Are we ok enough to work together?

I still intend to take Queeni out before coming in. If you want the computer chair and the floor mat you can have them. I’m no longer going to have a computer desk in my room. If you don’t want them I’ll take care of them tomorrow so they’re no longer in the living space.

I was thinking of getting a small trash can / trash bag that sits on the cabinet doors like the towel racks so it’s easier to throw small things away while we’re cooking and cleaning in the kitchen. Would you be opposed to trying something like that?

We can still get the paint tonight if you’re still interested in having your room painted.

I don’t think it was fair for you to say being here isn’t better than Florida. If that’s your honest opinion there’s not much I can do to change that other than continue trying my best. I’m not Casandra. I’m me and I love you. I’m also human just like you are. Neither of us are perfect and nothing in life is ever going to be perfect, including the sink and dishes. That doesn’t mean either of us are invalid or that we don’t matter to each other.

I haven’t gotten a reply from him yet. I don’t think I will. I’ve made my peace though.

If three pots make him feel like I don’t care or love him, that’s his own internal issue that I can’t help or solve or fix. Every time I try to do something he lets his inner voice tear it down.

My goal is no longer to try to make him feel like he matters, which may sound harsh when read at face value to taken out of context. No one can “make” you feel something. I don’t “make” him feel valued or unvalued. He does. I will continue trying my best to do the things I say I’m going to do, but the purpose of that is to remain honest, dependable, and truthful, not to make him happy or feel loved.

Only he can allow himself to feel or not feel those things, and I have no control over that, just like he has no control over me allowing myself to feel like a failure and an awful sister because his opinion is that the living situation here is as bad or worse than where he was.

I am not a failure. I am not an awful sister and I’m not going to give him the power to make me feel that way.

So that’s where I’m at today. I’ve done a lot of things in regard to self-care and reflection. I’m done trying to make people feel a certain way because it’s a pointless, futile endeavor. Instead, I will continue to do the things I feel align with my core values and priorities and not hold myself accountable or responsible for how other people choose to react or not react to those actions.

I feel ok today. I feel like I’m closer to myself than I have been in a while. I’m hoping today at work doesn’t suck, and if it does, hopefully, I can have enough space tomorrow to let it go. I have another session at the gym at 5am on Thursday. I’m looking forward to it. It’s a good feeling. Prioritizing myself feels good.

I feel Jon has a lot of work to do internally. He has issues with self-worth and that’s not something someone else can fix or help with. That’s his mentality, and so I’m done trying to do something I can’t do. All I can do is be me so that’s what I’m going to do.

Dragon’s Horde 060: New Nostalgia

Standard

During the week my dad stayed with me post-surgery we ended up walking through Walmart a few times. During one of those times we decided to get a puzzle to work on together. My dad and I used to do puzzles all the time before my parents divorced.

As we were talking about what puzzle to get, I mentioned how I’ve put together a handful of 3D crystal puzzles. He had never heard or seen them, so we took a look while we were at the store. Wouldn’t you know… they had a purple dragon puzzle. I couldn’t have asked for something more perfect.

My dad and I spent the next few hours of the afternoon working on it together. It was amazing. I hadn’t realized how much I missed something as simple as sitting with him, working on something, and chatting about nothing important while bitching about pieces not fitting right.

The whole week, but this experience specifically, helped reaffirm something for me. I do have a dad and he does care about and love me. I might not be the 8-year-old girl I once was, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be nostalgic about my past, and hopeful about my future.

I know you won’t read this post, but I want you to know I love you, dad. Thanks for being there for me when mom died. That’s for holding my hand through this terrifying time of having cancer. Thanks for letting me know that I still have a partent and that somewhere, deep inside, it’s ok to still be a kid.

Daily Post 197: Being Told You Were Right

Standard

Oh, man. Talk about a productive day of evil, mastermind planing.

It started with waking up. Ox wasn’t with me, but I had been prepared for the potential of him not coming over. It was a slow morning. A pre-school morning.

I plucked around on the computer for a bit. I renewed my domain name for my CG website. I haven’t done anything with it since I resigned from Full Sail but I don’t want to let it go either. It was $35 for another two years. Not bad as far as expenses go and with my state refund I wasn’t cutting into the grocery bill.

I also went onto Amazon. I love using green and orange highlighters. I use them for the flashcards I make for school. I use them to mark my progress on cross stitch patterns. Most recently I’ve started using them to mark what I have accomplished on my to-do lists rather than scratching through them with my pen or pencil. Seeing color on the page makes something in my brain happy.

Well… the shitty thing about having a specific color highlighter you want to use is if you run out and need to buy more you typically have to buy a whole pack with a bunch of other colors that are going to collect dust for forever. A quick search on Amazon revealed that I can buy packs of an individual color, other than yellow.

Best. Day. Ever.

I also looked into the whole Amazon Prime thing for students since I’m a student and all. I can use it for six months free. Guess what’s an Amazon Prime item?

Yep. That’s right. My spiffy highlighters of awesomeness. So in two days, I’ll have two 12 packs of happiness tucked away with the rest of my office/computer supplies.

While I was on the site I also ordered a bottle of the leave-in conditioner I like using for my hair. The places here in Nebraska never have it in stock. Is ordering online really destroying “in-store” retail when they never have what I’m looking for?

I decided to splurge a little bit more by buying a box of Pop Corners. I didn’t even know those were a thing until I got a care package in the mail from one of my friends. It was a box full of goodies, mostly high protein stuff for recovery after surgery, but the Pop Corners were a treat. The Sweet Kettle Corn flavor has crack cocaine in it. That’s the only explanation for why they’re so ridiculously good. Since I had gone through the supply from my friend I decided to feed my addiction by seeing what Amazon had to offer.

There was a 28 count box for $15.

Me: Bought!

That item wasn’t a Prime item, but I was ok with waiting.

I did dishes and spent some time with the kittens. By then I didn’t have time to go to the gym before class, which I was ok with. I could go afterward and be fine with my day.

I showered and got ready to leave. I stopped at Walgreens to pick up the refill for my Synthroid. While I was there I ended up talking to my boss on the phone. We talked about how the patient schedule would be changing. It’s nice to know what I’ll be walking into on Friday and Saturday. It was also nice being able to talk to her. Recently I’ve only been able to see her briefly on Fridays.

Class was interesting. We continued the discussion from last Thursday; is it possible for humans to pursue peace or is violence ingrained into our DNA? Is our behavior nature or a product of our culture? Very interesting discussion.

I left class feeling good. Ox was still at work when I called him. We agreed to meet at Hi-Way Diner for lunch. I got a cup of coffee while I waited for him and began typing up my notes. He arrived, petting my head to pull me out of the bubble of solitude I had created for myself with my headphones and music.

Ox: Did I scare you?

Me: No. I don’t think there are many people who would randomly come up and start petting me.

We ordered our food and ate as we talked about the new virus that was discovered in Brazil. More interesting stuff. I didn’t know viruses could replicate, transcribe, or translate DNA. Science is pretty cool.

After eating Ox went to make his car payment while I went to pick up more wet cat food. I haven’t had to buy as much since I’ve been splitting a can between the kittens rather than giving them each a whole can. I still had a few cans left, but it wouldn’t have lasted until next Tuesday so I figured I would get more while I was in the area.

Ox and I met back up at GNC for the energy drinks we like. Sadly they didn’t have any of the Sour Apple Reign for Ox. We got two cases of Bang instead. I carried both of them out to the car. It’s the first time since surgery I’ve carried two at once. The last time I had gone I had to make two trips to the car since I could only lift one case at a time. It sucked.

Not this time though. : D

Ox called me a brat while I did it. I mean… I can understand his viewpoint. Here he is, a macho guy carrying nothing walking next to a chick who’s lugging around two cases worth of energy drinks. This was a victory moment for me though, damnit. I can finally lift normal shit that I took for granted pre-surgery. Let me have my moment!

From GNC we went to Costco. We got gas for the cars. Inside we picked up St. Louis ribs since Papa Ox has been mentioning that he would enjoy having those for dinner one night. I picked up two roasts for future meal prep. We got two containers of cottage cheese; one for the house and one for me.

Ox convinced me to get a bag of dark chocolate covered pretzels. The deal was he had to take the rest of the candy from my care packages. I can’t have all of that chocolate sitting around the apartment. Dark chocolate covered pretzels are a weakness for me. Sooo good. >.<;

While we were walking to check out I noticed a box… a box of Pop Corners. The same box, in fact, that I had just spent $15 dollars on… for only $6.

I couldn’t get my phone out fast enough. XD

Me: Cancel order! Cancel order! Cancel order!

Amazon: Your message has been sent to the seller. Please note that your order may not be canceled.

Me: Fuck my life.

Ox: Well, at least we know for next time.

I put the box of Pop Corners in the cart, hoping that my order would, in fact, be canceled. If not… well… at least I hadn’t paid more than I did.

We checked out. As we were standing next to the cars I got an email notification saying the order was canceled. Woooooo! Even better best day ever!

Ox and I talked for a while, which needs a bit of backstory… as I was leaving the diner, I had gotten a few messages from Jon.

Jon: I called SCC. I spoke to the LPN Director.

Then nothing. Silence. No continuation of his story. No explanation. Just suspense.

My Brain: What the did you talk to her about? What did you ask her? I need details.

I called him and basically said those exact things. That he wasn’t allowed to leave me in suspense like that and to spit it out.

Jon: I thought you were grocery shopping and would talk to me later.

Me: Yeah. That was before you messaged me. I need details so spill it.

Jon: Well, you were right…

So, basically, he called the college I’m going to and talked to the LPN Director. You know… the director I met due to my training at the gym with her husband. The person I spoke with in regards to my cancer diagnosis and seeing what my options with school were. Yeah… that director…

My brother explained who he was and she said she remembered me. Warm fuzzy feelings. : 3

My brother also explained his situation and how he was thinking about moving to Nebraska and wanted to know more about the program and the chances of his credits transferring.

He told me that he had called a handful of schools. Some out in Vegas near Jason. Some in other locations he was thinking about. So far Nebraska seems like the best option for him. I don’t know all of the details from his conversation with the director, but Jon likes the information he got in regards to the college and how the school handles the nursing programs.

That led to a fairly long conversation ending with Jon saying he was going to talk to a few other people and get their perspectives and that we would talk more later. I told him I was proud of him. Not because he was thinking about moving to Nebraska specifically, but because he did research and got more information. He saw that he really does have other options and that some of those options are actually viable.

By making phone calls he showed himself that he’s not stuck in a hopeless situation. It takes effort and courage to call a stranger and spill your soul, admitting that your life currently sucks, and to ask if there’s anything they can do to help.

My Brain: Don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here, being a super proud older sister. >.> /high fives self

So yeah, after shopping at Costco, Ox and I talked pretty extensively about how he felt about the potential for Jon moving here to Nebraska. I wanted to hear his perspective.

Ox’s biggest concern would be if Jon and I ended up moving to Beatrice, which is about a 40-minute drive from the house. Ox and I wouldn’t be able to see each other as much. I would be much closer to school and work. I would be extremely close to my dojo as well. IN some ways it would make the 8 months of school easier. On the other hand, I don’t like the idea of being 40-ish minutes away from dinner or a cigarette or a hug.

Ox had a few other concerns. Never seeing me because I’m spending all my time with my brother. Jon not wanting him over at our residence because he hates Ox on principle… things like that.

They are all valid points. I like to think that I wouldn’t let my love for my brother compromise my relationship with Ox.

Ox and I also talked about potential employment for Jon. He’s a CNA and while he currently works at a hospital in Daytona, he wouldn’t be able to work at a hospital here in Lincoln. The hospitals here have phased out CNAs and LPNs. Jon doesn’t want to work in a long-term care facility…

Ox: Has he thought about working for your company?

That led to another conversation with Jon.

Me: Have you ever thought about being a dialysis technician?

Jon: I mean… I’ve never done it but I’m willing to give it a shot. The clinics here said they couldn’t hire me because of my school schedule.

Me: The clinics here are super understanding when it comes to school. And the company has paid training. They’ll teach you everything you need to know.

So… yeah… that led to another really long conversation. At the end of that one, I told Jon that I would call my boss and talk to her and see what information I could get for him.

I called my boss… again… XD

I explained the situation and how my brother was considering moving here to Nebraska. I explained his work history and how he wasn’t very interested in going back into long-term care. Were there needs in any of our sister clinics?

There are. There are three open positions. With his years of experience as a CNA my FA’s “gut feeling” is that he would be able to get more than base pay. It’s not guaranteed and she didn’t give me a number, but with how much more exposure he has, I would be surprised if he was offered base pay.

Even if he is offered that, it’s more than what he’s currently making.

So long story, long… he’s going to apply and he’s thinking about coming out to see Nebraska during his spring break in school, which would be around March 9th to the 13th.

I want this to work. I want this to work so freaking bad. Jon is going to do a bit more research on his end, but I think he’s finally seeing how much better this situation could legitimately be.

So that was the majority of my afternoon. I went to the gym and biked for 38 minutes. I made it to gear 14. I most likely pushed a bit too much. I went to Walmart afterward and could tell my neck wasn’t happy with me. It didn’t really hurt, but I could tell there were “not happy with you” feelings there.

I got the last bit of groceries needed for my meal prep. I also stocked up on chicken thighs and no-tatoes while I had the money to do so. After that, I went to the apartment and put all of my things away.

I went to the house. One of the pieces of mail was my Cigna paperwork regarding my surgery. I’ve been waiting for this piece of mail to come. I’ve been dreading it; knowing it would appear one day to tell me how financially fucked I am.

My surgery cost $29,942.62. My insurance covered 82% of it. I owe $4,945.88.

Out of nearly $30,000 I only have to pay roughly $5,000.

I guess I really can’t bitch a whole lot. That’s still a lot of money, but the hospital is willing to work with me. I can make payments and not be completely fucked. And compared to what it could have been, that’s really not a lot. I think that’s more than fair. I think 82% makes having insurance worth it. So, not exactly the best of news, but much better than what I was expecting.

We decided to cook the ribs we had bought earlier for dinner. I put them in the InstaPot, showing Mama Ox how easy it was to cook them. Ox and I had mindblowing sexy time while dinner cooked itself. Maybe that’s kind of trashy of me, but if it is, I’m ok with it. I mean… not only did I kickass in school, I also did all my errands, went to the gym, and got my brother to admit that I was right. Fuck yeah, I’m a sexy, productive, bad-ass bitch. Who wouldn’t want this? /flex

We ate dinner and it was super tasty, and that was about it for the night. Papa Ox mentioned that Venus was visible tonight and sure enough you can see it in the west. That’s pretty cool.

Ox got roped into running dungeons on WoW so I decided to come over to the apartment to write and be with the kittens. I might cross-stitch for a bit. Maybe color. Not sure yet. Still sort of in awe of how everything has gone down today.

Maybe this is the Universe apologizing for giving me cancer.

Universe: Hey. I know things have been sort of shitty, so here’s some good stuff to make up for it.

God. I hope this all works out. I really, truly do.

Daily Post 196: Conversations

Standard

Today has been… a day. This might end up being a longer, more rambling post than what I have been writing recently.

Ox came over last night. We slept together. I slept well. My day started the way I have grown to enjoy. Breakfast, meds, shower, getting ready for work, time with Ox. It was nice.

Work went smoothly for first shift. Change over was pretty good, too. One of my patients, who normally arrives early, wasn’t there. When we tried calling her cell phone, she didn’t answer. My RN called the hospitals she could have been admitted to.

I’m not going to see her again. I can’t go into details, but Friday afternoon, as she walked out of the clinic thanking me, will be the last memory I have of her.

She was one of my first patients here in Nebraska. I’ve known her for two years. I’ve met her grandson. And I’ll never see her again.

It’s one of the shitty things about my job. I meet amazing people, and yet we’re all mortal and there will always be a day where we die. There won’t be any more, “How was your weekend?” or, “Did you finish the dream catcher you were working on?” No more, “I’ll see you next time.” No more conversations or stories or jokes.

It sucks and I ache over it. At the same time, I knew how much pain she was in. I knew at least some of the other complications going on. I hope she isn’t suffering anymore. I hope there’s no more pain. I hope she enjoyed the life she had even though there were things about it that weren’t fun to go through or experience.

That’s how my workday ended. Knowing that I would soon be seeing a new patient because a life had ended.

I called Ox on my drive home. I explained what was going on. I drove to the house to have a cigarette with him. We talked for a bit. I didn’t stay. The plan before any of this information had come about was for me to go to the apartment because he was scheduled to raid with his guild on WoW.

I’m ok with it. Even now. I think having solitude is good at the moment. It’s allowing me to write. It allowed me to talk to Jon for almost two hours, which is the main thing I want to write about. It was not a conversation I expected to have.

We did talk about my workday for a bit. He can empathize with my feelings and that part of our conversation did help me feel more at peace internally.

A vast majority of our conversation was about his situation regarding school and staying in Orlando.

I think he might actually entertain the idea of moving here to Nebraska. At one point during our conversation, I said, “I want you to know that through all of these suggestions and what-ifs, that what I’m asking of you is to let me love you. Let me help you be successful. Like me be part of your success.”

Jon: But I should be able to do it on my own.

Me: No. You shouldn’t. Humans are social creatures. We survive, we succeed, because we are part of a group. Successful people are successful because they have a support system and they use it. They don’t abuse it, but they reach out for help when they would benefit from it and accept help when it is offered.

I hope he thinks over our conversation. I hope he realizes that moving here wouldn’t be a failure. It wouldn’t be giving up. It wouldn’t be running away.

Gah… I don’t know. There’s a lot to think about on my end, too, not just his. I do know that I love my brother and I want to help him get to where he wants to be in life. Maybe he’ll let me.

I guess it wasn’t as long of a post as I thought it would be.

I’m sad in one area, and yet hopeful in another. It’s a weird feeling, but I guess that’s life.

Tomorrow I have class. Ox may come over tonight if raiding doesn’t go super late. It would be nice to wake up next to him. If not, then I’ll see him after class so we can go grocery shopping. I have already received my state refund so financially I’m in a better spot than I originally thought I would be.

I need to pick up my meds tomorrow. I would like to go to the gym tomorrow, too. Just a little bit of biking to try to get back to where I was pre-surgery. I think biking would help me figure out some of my emotions; let think through some things.

For now, I’m going to go color and then call it a night. It’s been a day and I’m ok with that.

Daily Post 195: A Quiet Day

Standard

A quick writing before bed.

Today has been a fairly slow and quiet day. I woke up this morning mostly because the kittens refused to let me sleep longer. I fed them their ration of wet cat food, something they always look forward to. I ate breakfast and took my Zoloft. I had a cup of coffee while I had a cigarette and enjoyed the sunlight from the balcony attached to my apartment.

I colored for about 15 minutes before starting in on school work. I printed most of my references for my culture report. A few of them I can’t access unless I’m on campus. I’ll have to figure out something for those. There’s also a PDF version of a 95-page book. Very uninterested in printing the entire thing… But yeah. I was able to print six other sources so I can flip through and highlight the information I plan to use.

I completed the citation assignment that is due Tuesday. I also completed the case study assignment that’s due Thursday. That only leaves reading chapter four’s material, taking the test, and preparing for the essay quiz on Thursday. Feeling pretty good with the school side of things.

I went to the house for breakfast. I had planned to go to the gym after cross-stitching for a bit. That didn’t happen. Sexy time was had instead followed by a nap. I realized as I was dozing why I like sleeping on my side with the weighted blanket covering my shoulder. It feels like Ox’s arm is draped over me when I sleep like that.

For most of the morning, I was emotionally raw. It’s almost the two-year mark for Ox and me. It’s getting closer to April which will be the four-year mark of mom’s death. I don’t know… I can feel the depth of love I have for Ox clearer than I’ve let myself for a while. That love tugs at the edges of my wound; the one I have from losing mom. I don’t want to love him less, but I’m very aware of how painful love is, or at least can be.

Me: I don’t want you to leave.
Ox: I know. I can’t promise to always be here, though.
Me: I know.

I told him that I needed him to know that’s what I wanted; for him to not leave.

We spent the vast majority of the day in the bedroom, him gaming and me cross-stitching next to him. It’s been nice. We ran to the gas station and back to the apartment so I could get a seasoning packet. Mama Ox agreed to let me try cooking steaks in the InstaPot she got. I was told by a patient that the steaks turn out super tender that way and I wanted to give it a shot.

I don’t think mine turned out that well. To me, they seemed overcooked, but then I normally eat my steaks rare so maybe I’m not a good reference point. I do think it’s worth another try. They weren’t awful but they weren’t amazing either.

Ox and I have been watching a new series on Netflix. Cagaster of an Insect Cage. It’s interesting. I don’t think there are many more episodes left.

I chatted with my cusion for a while. We got caught up on each other’s lives and how the start of 2020 hasn’t been what we were hoping for. I also talked to Jon for a little bit. He mostly wanted to complain about some of his classmates, but it was still good to hear his voice. We agreed to talk later in the week.

Not a whole lot has happened aside from that. I did dishes, filled the containers with dry cat food, cleaned the litter box, packed my lunch box for work tomorrow… That was an issue Saturday while I was running late. In my rush to get out the door, I forgot to pack water into my lunch box. Luckily I had a handful of water bottles in my car because I was a slacker and didn’t clean it out. Sometimes procrastinating pays off.

Oh. Another thing I don’t think I mentioned… I had to refill my Synthroid prescription. I called it in Thursday I believe. I received an automated message Friday afternoon saying there was an issue they were trying to resolve with my insurance company. If they needed more information from me they would call.

I didn’t have it in me to care. If they called me I would figure it out then. Until then there wasn’t an issue for me to worry about.

I got a call Saturday afternoon saying the issue was resolved and there would be no copay for my prescription. It was ready to be picked up at my convenience.

I’m way more ok with my prescription knowing that I’m not having to pay $40 a month for it. In the grand scheme of things, $40 a month isn’t bad for meds. It’s not awesome either. $40 every two or three months seems way more doable, though. So yeah, I’ll be picking my refill up on Tuesday while I’m in town for class.

And with that, I think I’m done for the day. Here’s to a good night’s sleep with alarms that go off when they’re supposed to.

Musing Moment 139: Kicking Kevin’s Ass

Standard

Written and posted to Facefail Thanksgiving day

Monday, November 25th, after working a 12 hour shift at work, I received a phone call from my Endocrinologist. My biopsy came back positive for papillary thyroid cancer.

Firstly, I want to say that I have done my best to reach out to as many people as I could personally. If this is the first you are hearing of my diagnosis, please know that you were not forgotten or thought of as unimportant in my life. I care for everyone on my Facebook deeply and you are important to me.

Secondly, though I know it may seem counter-intuitive to post such news on Thanksgiving, I want to say that I am exceedingly grateful.

I am grateful for the outstanding care I have received from my primary care physician. Because of her, we found my cancer fairly early and are able to take the required steps for proper treatment.

I am grateful for the support and empathy of my teammates. Not only have they been my rocks while going through nursing school, they continue to stand by me as I begin the process of scheduling surgery.

I am grateful for the diagnosis itself. As far as “bad news” goes, being diagnosed with papillary thyroid cancer is pretty much the best bad news you can get. My prognosis is extremely positive and I am fortunate enough to know several people who have gone through this exact experience firsthand, including mom. Knowing other people in my life were badass enough to not only survive, but thrive, makes the big, scary “C” word seem less overwhelming and scary. If such inspiring people in my life were able to get through this, so can I.

And lastly, I cannot put into words how grateful I am for the support, love, and compassion I have received from family and friends. Not only did you guys listen to me drop a massive bombshell on you, every single one of you took the time to ask how I am doing; emotionally, mentally. You all have let me know that I’m not a burden and that if I need anything that you’re there for me through thick and thin. I am beyond grateful for the army of support I have going into this experience and because of you, all of you, I don’t feel as alone or vulnerable as I did Monday night.

One particular person gave me some interesting advice. She mentioned that naming my cancer could help make the situation more manageable rather than leaving it simply as “thyroid cancer”. So I have decided to name “it” Kevin (no offense to any Kevins out there…). Kevin’s a jerk and we’re all going to kick his ass because we’re awesome and we don’t take shit from nobody.

So, yes. It’s Thanksgiving and I’ve been diagnosed with cancer and I’m grateful. Thank you, all of you, for being awesome and amazing and for being a part of my life. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. We got this. : )