Will this post resonate with you? For some it will. For some it won't. It's written in sympathy for the people in the first group.
I no longer feel as though I'm dying. I BELIEVE I am well today. I didn't convince myself. I've never been able to force myself, through sheer will, to believe something. After I was diagnosed, well meaning assurances that I would be okay only magnified my doubt about my prognosis. Those assurances, however, played an important role in my journey. They caused me to explore why someone telling me to "be positive" made me feel inadequate and weak. Hearing "you'll be fine" felt like the kiss of death. I heard these things from people who I am not very close to and they meant well.
I believe that I came to center, leveled out, by spending alot of time in mourning. Exploring what death means. Understanding how we die. Really coming to terms with the truth that our society shushes. Becoming comfortable with going to sleep forever.
For those who are suffering from cancer and debilitating fatigue, depression and fear, I hope you allow yourself to grieve your losses. Allow yourself to feel terrified. Allow yourself to mourn for you and your family. While being strong and staying positive is important because it will help those around you, its okay to go off on your own and get angry and cry until you sleep.
This song is for you.
When panic grips your body and your heart is a hummingbird
Raven thoughts blacken your mind until you're breathing in reverse
All your friends and sedatives mean well but make it worse
Every reassurance just magnifies the doubt
Better find yourself a place to level out
Got a cricket for a conscience always looks the other way
A cocaine soul starts seeming like an empty cabaret
Hey, where have all the dancers gone? Now the music doesn't play
Tried to listen to the river but you couldn't shut your mouth
Better take a little time to level out
I never thought of running
My feet just led the way
Mixed up Signals
Cars are switched out in the crazy rain
I could meet you any place
If the Brakeman turns my way
All this automatic writing I have tried to understand
From a psychedelic angel who was tugging on my hand
It's an infinite coincidence but it doesn't form a plan
So I'm headed for New England or the Paris of the South
Gonna find myself somewhere to level out
Are your brothels full, Oh Babylon, with merry Middlemen?
Never peer out of their periscopes from those deep opium dens
All this death must need a counterweight always someone born again
First a mother bathes her child then the other way around