Seeking God Knows What

So I began the book #5 gave me to read last night and it suggests that you sit down and journal your life script- all the things that happened, the good, the bad, the people in your life over the years -those you liked and didn’t like. When T’s alarm went off this morning, instead of falling nicely back to sleep, my mind started thinking about what I would write. And now, I would rather pull the covers over my head and go back to sleep instead of actually writing it.

I don’t want to write about the fact that once I was no longer in treatment and there was no reason for me to stay home from school, I would will myself to throw up so I would not have to go because I did not like the social part of school although if you were to read my report cards, you would never know that. That I felt like everyone looked at me differently because I had cancer.

Or that I developed my surface self then. I had to be happy, brave, outgoing so people would not feel sorry for me and I was supposed to be brave, that’s what “they” always told me when I went for treatment. That I was furious with my dad when he let the local newspaper (of which he was the editor) put in the paper I had cancer when they did an article about how we helped fundraise for the Ronald McDonald house in Ann Arbor and he spoke at the opening. It already felt like the whole world knew and I did not want anyone else to know.

Or that the summer I went to Blue Lake after 8th grade, I completely broke down while watching the drama group perform and some girl did a monologue that was about a girl who had leukemia. I lied then and said I missed “my boyfriend”, typical for a 14-year-old girl, right?

That I still sometimes wonder if T married me because at 17, after being told “officially” that I was infertile, I cried and said no guy would ever want me once they found out I couldn’t get pregnant and he felt sorry for me.

It’s my lockbox. I just don’t go there.

It seems, however, that I have to.

This is going to get worse before it gets better.