Heatherina

Cry me a river

I feel like it’s all I do… cry.

I really think that my tears could make a stream.

I was never in my life a crier. In fact, I HATED those sissy girls who would cry at every school dance over some silly boy. It’s not that I didn’t cry… I would just wait until I was alone. And I still do that to a point. But I find now that the tears flow more easily. And sometimes unexpectedly.

I live my life a nervous person. I am constantly worried about something. I honestly think being sedated and out of it after surgery and the impending months of wooziness that followed must have been a nice break for the part of your mind that worries. And also for the ulcer I’m sure that I will have someday…

Even if there is absolutely nothing wrong… I am still anxious. I worry that there is nothing to worry about. I find now that I’m trapped with my own thoughts that I’m constantly battling irrational anxieties. I worry that I’m not recovering quickly enough. I worry that I’m going to lose my job soon. I worry that I’m not doing anything worthwhile. I worry that I’m a disappointment. I worry that my life partner will decide he can’t take it anymore. I worry that my friends think I’m being melodramatic.

And all of these worries pool themselves into panic and tears. And I can’t stop them. Today, while trying to do some work, I just dissolved into tears. I don’t always know why… it’s usually an accumulation of all of the irrational worries that I allow to accumulate. And I am so fortunate that I have people surrounding me that talk me down from the proverbial ledge. I never have to allow myself to get to that panicky place where I used to reside when I was a teenager. Where I used to have almost constant panic attacks. In fact, I haven’t had a panic attack in awhile.

But I still panic. And it’s almost like the easier things get, the more I find to worry about. Why is it that I can have such a strong outlook when things get bad, and when things are looking up I start to doubt myself so strongly?

Now is the time when I need to pull out my worn and tattered bible that I’m so attached to. The one that is falling apart and starting to lose pages and needs to be replaced. It has been read again and again and run through with highlighter, pencilmarks, and notations. But it is my rock. It is almost as strong of a symbol as a cross is to me. Now is the time when I need to stop focusing so much on myself and start having more faith. I know that with me, the tests of my faith are never during the tribulations, not during the intense struggles; but during the times of mediocrity. The humdrum times, the times when nothing remarkable is happening, that I struggle with starting to lose faith. When things are not terribly difficult, but I’m still struggling, that’s when I feel the true weight of life on my shoulders.

I look at my life and I can see the blessings. But I am afraid to count them. I know that my life and this particular part of it is like the tide, a constant ebb and flow. When I feel like I am on the crest of the wave, I wait for the inevitable crash onto the beach. I am trying. I am trying to enjoy the days when I feel really good. To appreciate that even on bad days, I am better than I was. And I try to put things into perspective because at least my road is a hopeful one. I am surviving, and recovering faster than expected, from a cancer that, at my particular stage, usually has bleak odds. And I know there are people every day who aren’t surviving. People who are suffering just as much as I am, but know that it may be in vain. That is so humbling to me, and it makes my heart hurt. Because I think the one thing that has been the key to my healing so far has been that I’ve never questioned survival. Only briefly did I ever entertain the notion of death. But ever since then, I’ve always been surrounded by hope.

This is the hardest thing I have ever had to go through. And I’m young, so I know I haven’t had alot of life experiences, but I am hoping that the challenges get a bit easier after this. Although the cancer has absolutely ravaged my body, it has never been the physical part of the fight that was the most difficult. And it has been difficult. I don’t think I can ever forget the pain I felt after my colectemy before I was allowed morphine. Or the pain of being moved a few hours after having my stomach cut into. I will never forget the pain from the tumors in my spine; being curled up like a bug and screaming in pain whenever someone moved my legs. Or how difficult it was to force my legs to walk again, to rehabilitate the lower half of my body to move in the simplest way. But nothing, no amount of physical pain or burden can possibly compare to the trial that I have been through emotionally. I really believe that any illness is just as much a fight for your mind as it is for your body. I will never be able to allow anyone into the annals of my mind to really see what happens, what is going on.

This fight is far from over. And even as my body heals, the cancer continues to play with my mind. I wish that I had some protection from my own tendencies, my own over-analysis and anxiety. I think back to Ephesians, which I studied in depth in college, and about putting on the armor of God. The breastplate of righteousness and so forth. And then I think about silly things like Magneto from X-men and his special helmet for blocking Xavier. That’s what I need. Battle gear. But how do I protect myself from me?

So evermore I let the tears flow. And with them I let go all of those fears that I can’t keep inside. All of the toxins of my mind pouring out like rain. Cry me a river? I just might…