Just a very short-timer blogger I am. Once the idea to blog about stage four life percolated for a while, I believed that having a somewhat anonymous place to air the raw-side of my emotions and fears and rants about stage four cancer would be therapeutic. When talking with friends and family (and sometimes total strangers), it is a blend of candid speaking and tip-toe-ing as I select the words to share what’s going on health-wise and emotionally with me. While my cancer seems to doze, my feelings are not always so inclined.
Now I am not so sure that dredging up, examining, and exploring my feelings is good. Or therapeutic. I am not known for suppressing my emotions (ask my husband about my outbursts), but this feels a little like making rootbeer. (A family tradition going back to the 1930’s, but I digress) Water, sugar, rootbeer extract, and then some yeast to get fermentation going and a warm place to let those yeast fester out of control. After I write a blog, like my holiday meltdown, it ferments in my brain for a long time, growing like yeast and bubbling out of control like root beer until something that I could have dismissed as silly or insignificant has taken on a life of its own.
When I was little (well, let’s say pre-adolescent) and was upset about something in our family or my parents’ decisions, etc, I found it easiest to write them a letter about the gross injustice or wrong I had suffered at their hands, totally my perception. I was usually quite emotional as I wrote, and I wish I had one of those letters because I think it would be hilarious to read today. Most, but not all, of those letters were delivered. Most, but not all, were treated with respect. I learned to think of writing as a way to process and resolve problems and issues. I still do.
I want my stage four struggles to be processed, to be aired, but then let go. To nap undisturbed a little longer, to settle quietly as an issue no longer worth time to fuss about, to be quiet like my cancer, blessedly, is now. And let me simply live.