Hard day. Hard week. Hard 2 years. Hard next 25 days while I wait for yet another follow up. Knowing everything should be fine doesn't make even a sliver of a difference. Cancer seems to put your life on hold just so it can burrow deeper into your psyche and make sure you're, like, 100% disoriented. Any fraction less won't do.

We're all stressed here. I feel isolated. I feel like no one gets it. I feel like I want to puke my feelings out to everyone and no one wants to listen, but even if I did it anyway, I can't verbalize it. There's just no explaining this absolute fucking chaos. I can touch on pieces of it, but come up short. I'm so tired of trying to explain it enough to get support, and so tired of fighting it. Part of me wants to say cancer doesn't get to win the war on my psyche, and part of me says, fuck it - let's just play this twisted game until the clock runs out. I usually wonder why I have any hope that I might return to a semblance of myself before all this. If cancer is this big, huge thing, isn't it okay if we get a Kat from a darker timeline until I die from whatever this fucked up universe deems fit? Does my goal have to be getting back to light and love, or can I just take a fucking break already?

So I'm grasping - again. Flailing - again. Somehow convincing myself that the days of yore and the people in it are the cure for what ails my aching heart.

Hard not to give into nihilism when every answer is wrong anyway.

10:11 a.m. - 2019-10-27