I SH!T AND THEN WORDS COME OUT

9:00 pm

 There was once a girl, like theres always a girl. Some would look at her and say she was destined for greatness, however every mirror she encountered was smeared. You can find her in the place god can’t see and no one can hear him calling out. Substance all around to impair her every move she didn’t want control, she didn’t want to feel her feet in the 8 inch heels or their hands on her cheap perfumed flesh. It was all a blur, and it became kind of funny. They can have my body but not my soul, split them in half and shutter the other one so doesn’t know whats happening. Have you ever tried closing the eyes of your soul? 

11:00pm

Hours pass the night furthers. She’s falling left and right trying to get some sort of grip and maybe phone into her surroundings through the haze. And everyone knows. Theres a man at the end of the bar who has secrets of his own and although there customers are far from average there is something even more conspicuous about his aura at the corner of the bar. 

1:30 

To friendly, too sweet he offers the girl a ride home.

3 days later

Because it’s always a girl, she is found in an alley way. Found being an operative word considering that there was no one necessarily looking. She woke up to be found in the dark with her pants half way down and blood everywhere. Thankful for no bodily wounds, next to her leg was the tampon she was wearing three days ago. She was alive, maybe god found her.

I can’t count the reasons for not being able to sleep. Sleep is vulnerable and I find my self wanting to stay at my wits every second I can still breathe. Theres also a bit of pain that won’t settle so simply and I know where its coming from and I know its not good and with the noise from the top floor room coming down like a conflagration into my bedroom, how can I sleep? When the house is on fire and my covers aren’t noncombustible and my sheets aren’t concrete. But i hide under them in suffocation knowing i could go days without eating, I’d stay under here forever and wait for more till the noise softened then I’d run barefoot out the front door and lay on the grass surrounded by nothing. and I’d close my eyes and sleep. Until the noise in my dreams woke up again at least. 

I did hardly anything today. I made plans, and I talked to people. And I bought cigarettes. And I did a great job at pretending that I wasn’t in pain. chemo sucks radiation sucked blah blah blah. I’m so sick of me being that girl. I’m so sick of staying home but I’m scared to react badly around a bunch of people. And its self destructing, I know, when I make plans and schemes in my head to go out and take all the drugs I can find and put cancer to the test, but sometimes I get so caught up in this different lifestyle of positivity and I’m afraid of it. I’m afraid everyone will leave me behind and I’ll be that sick friend that everyone feels sorry for and only wants around when they want an ego boost, or good deed sticker for the day and then we part and I’m forgotten again. I feel so pathetic because I feel like my life is a cry for attention on accident. 

I’m really good at putting on make up now…its fun painting a mask on my face. I’m running out of smiles though. 

AT THE DOCTOR:

Doctor:…..So to be safe I wouldn’t engage in sexual activity during your treatment…

me: oh that won’t be hard

Doctor: ….Yea I’ve noticed

IN THE CAR:

Me: So mom I have another doctors appointment in like two weeks…

Mom: So when are you going to get a pedicure?

Me: ……

IN THE BATHROOM:

Me: My hairs falling out, what happens if I go bald and have to shave my head?

Sister: Well it might look hot, you know like Amber rose?

Me: isn’t she a porn star

Sister: No she just dates rappers

Me: …..oh….

AT A BAR:

Girl Friend: I mean you’re handling it pretty well which is good, and I am too which is surprising

Me: What do you mean you are?

Girl friend: What you think I’m just going to let cancer take my best friend away?? Nah homie….I’LL FUCK CANCER UP!!

PANERA…I THINK?

Best guy friend: ….Wait you have cancer?

Me: Yeah…you didn’t read my blog did you

Best guy friend: Yeah I did….well like a little. 

Me:…..

Best guy friend: Its really long…I know that fucked up because its about cancer but…you should break it up more….or write less

I have cervical cancer. Whatever. I feel fine. But is it just me or does modern medicine make everything worse and better at the same time. The first option given to me was a hysterectomy. For those of you without a vajj and don’t know what that means, it means they want to gutt me from the inside and rip out my uterus leaving me barren and empty from all insides of my insides. Its as barbaric as it sound and I thought to myself, “self its 2012 this can’t be the only way” Option number two Radiation which I start pretty soon actually. I wanted to do this right away. I picture it to be similar to tanning which is something given the complexion of my skin useless and quite silly, but now i’d be able to try it and instead of getting darker I get….well uncervical. But then option three came chemotherapy and by now I was like oh man I’m really not going to die cancers not so bad what’s been the big deal puh I have to take some pills, rub a little cream, and just wait this shit out. NOTHING IS EVER THAT EASY, WHY THE FUCK DO I HAVE POSITIVE EXPECTATIONS….anymore. I’m on day four of chemotherapy and my stomach hurts so much I don’t know what to do but to just keep it moving. I feel like I’m going to throw up 90% of the day, and my hair it already starting to shed….in clumps. Not to mention skin rashes blah blah blah fuck. But it just might work. Might being the operative word. I don’t mean to be negative or pessimistic, I honestly don’t but if you have had the interesting experience of knowing me you know that is usually how I function through my day, making this experience all the more hard for me, but I’m still smiling(after I wake up crying of course.)

No one reads my blog and I kinda like it that way but if you’ve come across this know that I love you and I still feel fine.

I want to try for the sake of not dying. Just so I don’t have to be that awkward story in the paper about a girl you barely even knew who apparently went to your high school, so now when you scroll through the arbitrary you can say, “hey I do you know she died?” I’d hate to be the reason someone gave up there sunday afternoon and there only day off of work to attend a caliginous ritual in a dismal funeral home with a bunch of people they’ve never met with the burden of extorting tears from their eyes at some point in order to pass as sentimental to the situation. I want to fight, because wanting to die seems selfish and is gravely looked down upon.  And you know theres so many people who beat cancer. So I want to live so I don’t seem like a pussy bitch who couldn’t fight. I want to live because I don’t want to be the blame for my own death. I don’t want to be another example of prevention, or a lesson a mother can make for her daughter. I don’t want to be millions of women. I just want to be one woman. I want to survive but I don’t want to be a survivor. To glorify a deed that came from pure chance is not a way to motivate the next person to live. I know because because these surviving cancer pamphlets make me sick and I don’t want to know its okay if I die or if I don’t make it, I want you to fix me and if you can’t I’ll fix my fucking self. I want to live but I also want to cry, scream, yell, choke, run, question, be held, be forgotten, throw up, smoke, drink, and be fucking merry. I want to live to see snow fall again. But guess what I personally wouldn’t care if I died. And that’s fucked up. 

My women parts are wounded

Can a bird fly with one wing

being a woman has given me false hopes and elusive dreams

Can a blind owl still move at night and flow through whole trees

What species am I without those parts that make my worth in gold

And is it worth the lost of my insides for a gain in half a life spent in caution and endless spite

To always have to mention, “well I can’t” “No its not contagious” “I don’t have that anymore” “I didnt tell you because I was scared”“Yes I’m still a woman

But what does that mean?

Yes I’m a woman but I’m missing woman things

14-billion-years-later:

One is craving the company of a person, the other is craving the existence of that person.

I wouldn’t of gotten out of bed today if crying didn’t produce snot accumulation in my nostrils and all over my face…..that bothered me so much. I would of stayed under my covers like a purple cotton ball and wished the world to burn in hell…JUST SAYING. 

For the Record: Last night I slipped into a short coma and no one noticed or even knows but it happened; I was there and it happened. My melodramatic tendencies allowed me to accelerate a compulsive urge to release the energies of a bad evening and turn into a cataclysmic war against  who I was and who I was striving  to be; those two never really got along. These thoughts seemed impossible. How do you know when you hit rock bottom when it seems significantly lower every time. With building up immunity to familiar situations and bullshit that was dealt with at a younger age, comes the comfort of being able to handle new unruly events. WRONG. That’s just life fucking with you, giving itself the upper hand with the element of surprise tricking you to believe that you can grow and learn how to control up and coming circumstances, and you were so dumb and too elitist to ever think it couldn’t happen to you again; that you couldn’t  do that to yourself again. 

If there was music playing in the background for me it would of been epically beautiful, with quite hint of violin eluding a melody over brass instruments working against the ere improvised piano stretching its self through the scale: B Flat Minor. 

I woke up this morning. I didn’t mean to, but it happened. I still tasted the rum in my mouth and even though I tried to fight against this head ache last night with fire and about five extra strength tylenols the momentary bliss of nothingness streaming my frontal veins had long surpassed. And then I burst into tears because I could see the suns glare through my window and I knew that I had been given another chance. I knew that last night when my heart came violently alive out of my chest to show me how well it could dance before death; that the intensity in my core and rapid pain shooting through my arm, and air out side my mouth that I couldn’t catch back in; I was not brave. Screams of help might as well have been a whisper meant to be a secret you say to someone you love because there was no one I loved here to hear my screams, everyone was asleep and soon enough so was I.

For the Record: Having balls doesn’t make you brave. I’m not brave.