I wanted to go through this with strength. I wanted to get my results, deal with them matter-of-factly, and go about my life. I wanted to be one of those people who get endless accolades for being so “brave” and so “strong.” I thought, for a second, it might even be possible. After all, I kept myself from crying when I got my positive results. I was prepared. I knew things.
Yeah, not so much. It’s been a week and a day since I was told I might “feel sad” later. That it might be hard to deal with. I think that’s an understatement. I am flat-out, knocked-on-my-ass, devastated. I had a couple days of normalcy, but it didn’t last.
I wanted so much to be able to be one of those strong people who takes it in stride and remains confidence in their decision(s). But I’m not. All I can see are my two options: surveillance (constant testing, claustrophic MRIs, false positives, biopsies, eventual cancer and all that follows, probably including surgery) or prophylactic surgery (my entire body image falling apart, no man ever wanting to be with me, the most physical pain I’ll ever have felt, months out of work recovering, never being the same again). BOTH OF THESE SUCK. All I can see or feel is that no matter what I do, my life is over. The rest of my life is going to suck.
No one in my life understands – and I wouldn’t want them to. It just makes it hard. People say they’re here for me, and while I appreciate that, it almost makes it harder because I know they will never understand. I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. I don’t believe negative emotions attract negative energy. I don’t really believe in anything, least of all my ability to get through this with any semblance of strength.
It is so hard to talk to my friends about work and boys and classes and money and anything normal people talk about. All I can think is that my world has fallen in, and there is not a damn thing I can do about it. Ever.