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"i will love every minute of my life"
May. 18th, 2011 04:33 pmEvery time I try to do Arisia work, I get sick to my stomach.
I keep trying to make lists of good things, because lists soothe me, and I keep stuttering out after Light and raspberries. I tell myself I'm stronger than this, but I don't actually think I am, I just think I need to be. It's possible it's just time to rebuild my reading list from scratch. Or finish up my librarything.
I can't tell sometimes if my actions are dreadfully adolescent, or just graceless acceptance of unfortunate realities. I don't know if it matters, I don't know to whom I'm trying to justify things. There are a lot of things I'm trying to justify, and I think that's most of the struggle with deciding to have a mastectomy. I know that it's the right thing for me to do, but I still kind of feel like it's a desperate, unjustifiable ploy for attention, or something I have no right to. And I know that there's no one who makes these decisions, but I still feel like I'm being found wanting.
Heh. Found wanting. I am almost always found wanting, in many ways.
I remember, and I don't know if I remember truly or if it's just the shiny gloss hindsight imparts, a time when I was with Asshat and I was completely sated on attention. I had all the attention I wanted and then some. And I don't ever want to be someone's only friend ever again, or someone's dirty secret, or someone's second best. (which is entirely different than wanting to be everyone's focus all the time. My relationship with Asshat began with him telling me that I was a stopgap measure until he and his friend Bitchface worked things out, and I don't want that again.) But most of the time, I liked that there was usually conversation if I wanted it.
Things won't be as they are now forever, and that's both awesome and terrifying.
In summary: If you haven't watched the nook "Read Forever" ad and you have a sentimental bone in your body, you should go watch it right this second. I think it is to me what long-distance television ads were to my mother. And, if you get a risk-reducing mastectomy, they ask you to donate your boobs to science.
I keep trying to make lists of good things, because lists soothe me, and I keep stuttering out after Light and raspberries. I tell myself I'm stronger than this, but I don't actually think I am, I just think I need to be. It's possible it's just time to rebuild my reading list from scratch. Or finish up my librarything.
I can't tell sometimes if my actions are dreadfully adolescent, or just graceless acceptance of unfortunate realities. I don't know if it matters, I don't know to whom I'm trying to justify things. There are a lot of things I'm trying to justify, and I think that's most of the struggle with deciding to have a mastectomy. I know that it's the right thing for me to do, but I still kind of feel like it's a desperate, unjustifiable ploy for attention, or something I have no right to. And I know that there's no one who makes these decisions, but I still feel like I'm being found wanting.
Heh. Found wanting. I am almost always found wanting, in many ways.
I remember, and I don't know if I remember truly or if it's just the shiny gloss hindsight imparts, a time when I was with Asshat and I was completely sated on attention. I had all the attention I wanted and then some. And I don't ever want to be someone's only friend ever again, or someone's dirty secret, or someone's second best. (which is entirely different than wanting to be everyone's focus all the time. My relationship with Asshat began with him telling me that I was a stopgap measure until he and his friend Bitchface worked things out, and I don't want that again.) But most of the time, I liked that there was usually conversation if I wanted it.
Things won't be as they are now forever, and that's both awesome and terrifying.
In summary: If you haven't watched the nook "Read Forever" ad and you have a sentimental bone in your body, you should go watch it right this second. I think it is to me what long-distance television ads were to my mother. And, if you get a risk-reducing mastectomy, they ask you to donate your boobs to science.
