(no subject)

Lord, but I am falling apart. Intellectually, I know it's not true, but I'm finding almost impossible not to think of myself as having 18 days left, as though post-mastectomy life is an impossibility, or will find me so radically altered as to be someone else entirely.

( I natter about my boobs )

And now I get to do it again. In different circumstances, now not so much with the purely cosmetic. This time, in theory, to improve my life in such a way that I can stop wincing at every pink ribbon and every strange twinge. I'm doing a life-affirming thing, dammit. A horrific, barbaric, surgical life-affirming thing.

It's like quitting smoking in my head, which I did not so much for Light as because of Light. Or because of what I believe about love and promises. I'm doing this to live as long as I can, to be as sane as I can for as long as I can. It's the same reason I do everything else. To be good to the people I love, even when I don't include myself on that list.

So why the hell can't I stop crying All The Time about it? Why do I want to dig my heels in and start shouting about things not being fair when I pretty much beat the idea of fairness out of my self violently, repeatedly and at a young age? Why does it feel like there's no peace to be made with anything, only pain to be endured?

And why the hell do I keep asking questions that don't have any answers?

(no subject)

Lord, but I am falling apart. Intellectually, I know it's not true, but I'm finding almost impossible not to think of myself as having 18 days left, as though post-mastectomy life is an impossibility, or will find me so radically altered as to be someone else entirely.

( I natter about my boobs )

And now I get to do it again. In different circumstances, now not so much with the purely cosmetic. This time, in theory, to improve my life in such a way that I can stop wincing at every pink ribbon and every strange twinge. I'm doing a life-affirming thing, dammit. A horrific, barbaric, surgical life-affirming thing.

It's like quitting smoking in my head, which I did not so much for Light as because of Light. Or because of what I believe about love and promises. I'm doing this to live as long as I can, to be as sane as I can for as long as I can. It's the same reason I do everything else. To be good to the people I love, even when I don't include myself on that list.

So why the hell can't I stop crying All The Time about it? Why do I want to dig my heels in and start shouting about things not being fair when I pretty much beat the idea of fairness out of my self violently, repeatedly and at a young age? Why does it feel like there's no peace to be made with anything, only pain to be endured?

And why the hell do I keep asking questions that don't have any answers?