May 3, 2006

I have been willing myself to blog for almost a week now, obviously to no avail. Basically, it's because I really have nothing happy to say. I'm not sure why exactly that's a reason for reticence, as complaining is cathartic and I really don't care if I come off as negative right now. I am just having having an impossible time reconciling my illness and my life right now. I am basically bedridden and bored beyond explanation. I am constantly exhausted and therefore incapable of doing anything really except what I used to avoid (despise?): watch TV all day. So, within me resides the perfect catch-22 between aching to be active/productive and simply physically being unable. I'm not sure why my mind won't read any of the great books around me or let myself appreciate catching up on all the movies and Food TV that anyone could ever hope for. I do appreciate my friends and Jaci for doing everything in their power to make me smile. They are usually very successful at raising my spirits but it's fleeting and not self-catalyzed, you know? I laugh and love them so much, but my heart is heavy and refuses to be lifted. One reason I think I'm so depressed is that I was never sick with leukemia. What I mean is, I felt perfectly fine the night I went into the ER and was whisked into chemotherapy and blood filtering. So, all I feel is the pain of the treatment without ever suffering why the heck I have to go through two years of hell. Of course, I believe that I was very sick, but you see, it's only a belief- something someone told me. Leukemia, they say, is like that. People get a funky bruise or have a lingering cramp, they go to the hospital and boom, they're a cancer patient. For me, they tell me, it was even more dramatic. No time to discuss fertility options, treatment options, etc, so perhaps it's finally catching up with me. Will acceptance come next? I spoke with a man who just finished his two years of this same protocol and he commiserated that these thirty weeks (Phase III) were the worst for him; he said he spent a summer in bed. He wanted to show me how he's made it through and to show me I would too. Well, I know I sound bitter and people tell me I should grateful to be alive and I am grateful for me family and friends, but I take no consolation that I will feel better sometime in December. I'm embarrassed by people's sweet declarations of my strength... I don't know if I can handle this.