Yesterday was my birthday. It was a good day. It was a non-eating day. So I invited my kids out to have lunch with me. And I could not eat. Have you ever been hungry and surrounded by plates of mouthwatering food and unable to eat? We always have a birthday lunch. The birthday girl gets to pick the restaurant. They dressed up and were so excited, I didn’t have the heart to tell them no.
Sigh. It was hard. The feeling sick is not as hard as the sore. You know, I was once told that all the tears I made him cry will come back to me. I know its insane and stupid, but I cant help but think about that time whenever its late at night and I am sad.
She left. Went on holiday. I am here, struggling with every day and she is by the sea, finding herself. I ask myself what is love. If you love someone, and they are having a tough time, do you not want to spend their last days with them? If you love someone can you abandon them? Let them cope alone? If you love someone can you ask for silly time? Would you have the need to go and fuck random women before you come and commit to me, the one dying? Would you not choose time to fuck around AFTER my death? Do you love me?
Sigh, she is young. I do feel loved, but sigh. Am I going to be a fool till the day I die?
I need ink. I need to feel alive.
I wish I had the guts to just have a random sexual affair with my hot sm friend. Maybe that kind of pain will reiterate that I am alive.
I wish I was not this needy. I wish I could just let her be. She says she loves me. She shows me she loves me. But then she does things like this. She is young, my brain says. How can she love you, something else says.
Cancer is hard. Not eating is hard. The hectic pain is hard. Constantly vomiting is hard. Drinking a million pills is hard. But living life, is just as hard.
If not more.
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i have had enough. i am sick and tired of missioning. and crying. and all that shyte. stopit.
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You know, cancer, darling, when I met you four years ago, I was so surprised by your arrival that i marked you on my skin. I tattooed a cut on my inner elbow. with a drop of blue blood. Just a little reminder that whenever I see the “blood” I know I am still alive.
And you rocked and you rolled in that thrill, didn’t you? So you must have not liked when I kicked your ass and I had the world ALIVE tattooed on my spine. Did you feel slightly cheated that your friend, Death, could not take me? Hahaha I got you babe.
Or did I. You did and you know it, you got me back GOOD. See? You stole my words, my ability to write a sentence. I am tired of you.
But then again, I did manage to get a new tattoo. One that says forever on my wrist. Why? When the doctor said i will not see Christmas and I only have 6 months to live, i envisaged my death. Will there be someone? What would I have said to the children? Will she be there? But as usual, I just wanted me. Whenever I go to the doctor or whenever I hunch over my toilet bowl, splurting your little fighter pilots out, i just read the word on my wrist. Forever. Forever is now. No reason to wait for tomorrow to live life. Do it now. Here. Forever.
And the 24 stars on my shoulder? When he said you have 6 months to live, I started counting the weeks down. One week, one star. Tattoos make me happy, I like the pain. I don’t cry. But for many of these stars I have cried. Strange how they somehow are disappearing.. the artists say its all the chemicals in my body, dissolving the ink. I know its you, waiting, nibbling from the inside.
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