14 april 2026
I Need a Distraction
For as long as I can remember, I have been in a perpetual flight of sorrow from my own afflictions. Today is no different - an unbroken continuity of evasion. When I survey the pains of my life, what I find most clearly is an individual hollowed out by dread. I anticipate the most evil in every person I encounter, not out of cynicism, but out of self-preservation - because to extend trust blindly is to accept devastation. I cannot claim to have many intimate companions. I am surrounded by acquaintances, by ghost of other people's relationships, yet only a precious few occupy the territory where I would permit myself to be genuinely known.
I carry within me a desperate longing to trust - it may be the most fervent want I possess, yet I am purly incapable of discerning the treacherous from the devoted. I have concluded that I am safer enshrouded in uniform wariness than I am offering anyone the benefit of my vulnerability. What torments me most is the knowledge that there are people who care for me. That awareness fills me with a particular revulsion - not at them, but at myself - because I cannot reciprocate with anything of equivalent sincerity. I am ravenous for human connection, and yet when I discover that I am genuinely cherished by another soul, what floods through me is not warmth, but the cold weight of obligation, the mechanical performance of an affection I cannot authentically feel.
To love someone, however — that is an altogether different form of torment. When devotion seizes me, it does not arrive quietly; it obliterates. I cannot think with any coherence, cannot sleep with any peace, cannot eat with any appetite until I have confirmed that the object of my devotion is safe, unburdened, and content. Remarkably, reciprocation is immaterial to me. The act of loving, in and of itself, is its own sufficient justification. I do not require - nor do I want - the one I love to love me in return, for that would constitute a kind of selfishness I refuse to indulge. My only ambition is that whoever holds my devotion should move through this world in the absolute certainty that they are, without condition or reservation, profoundly loved.
I exist in maddening bifurcation - two selves occupying the same body, irreconcilable in their natures. One is a tenacious, aching interior, still persuaded, against all evidence, that goodness persists in the world. The other is a desiccated shell, paralyzed by the possibility that its faith may be misplaced. To live suspended between these two states is an exhaustion I carry without respite. I need an out.
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4 april 2026
The 'C' Word
I'm not certain I even know how blogs work but I want to start making
either a daily or weekly blog outlining my own personal journey through
helping my mother through Chemo.
My mother is officially on her second dose of Chemotherapy. Writing
that down feels... heavier than I expected. It's sadly not the first time
I've experienced those words. Someone else's mom, someone else's life; it
hits closer to home when it's right in front of you. Those words cut so
much deeper than what I was anticipating. I have to constantly pause and
remind myself that talking about this, and explaining my thoughts and
emotions are more than just a performative act of "woe is me", but a way
for me to be able to process things and have everything laid bare.
I can't imagine what my mother is going through, if I am broken up
this much about something that isn't even affecting me, I can't begin to
wonder the kind of horrors that fill her head. Sadly enough this is not
the first tragedy to have hit her.
About two years ago my mother had a severe stroke. I can't remember
the exact name of it, but I remember it was a blood clot that formed
right behind her eye in her brain. The first sign I saw was that she was
blind in one eye, but not lucid enough to understand the implications. I
wouldn't stop nagging her about how she needed to get to the hospital
immediately, but she insisted that she needed to take a shower and get
dressed first before we go.
The next year was a blur. The only things I could remember from that
situation was that my mother was dying, and there was nothing I could do
about it. I was an emotional wreck, I'd barely go outside, I'd picked up
some pretty bad drinking habits, and I lost all emotional availability
with my boyfriend. My mother completely forgot my name or who I was. At
that point I felt something snap — the foundation that made the very
essence of me was broken, like a turtle being dropped from a thousand
feet in the air onto the rocky shores below.
After the removal of the clot, she recovered a lot. I say that she
made a full recovery, but that snap was slow to heal, and I can't help
but to still see the things that are different; the things that are "not
my mom".
The next event was not as severe, but that's when I first noticed how
numb I've become to seeing my mother in a state of distress. Earlier this
year my mother was again in the hospital, this time for an ovarian cyst.
The cyst after surgery weighed about 30lb (that's 13.6kg for everyone not
from the US) and it was after it was taken out that we got the news that
the cyst was cancerous. In response she is starting chemo, and I feel
equal parts horror and hollow — horror at the idea of cancer, and hollow
because my brain keeps going back to "she's been through so much, what's
one more thing".
People keep calling her brave. I don't mean to be rude but I don't
think she's being brave. Someone who's brave does so because they have
the choice to be. She is fighting because the alternative is death.
She's fighting because she's medically backed into a corner. I truly do
love her, and I know that she is strong, I just don't know what word to
use to describe how she is. I just know brave is not it, and even she
told me that.
I feel very numb to it all at this point. I know that she needs
support, and so I will continue to be someone who she can lean on. It's
hard to feel anything about the situation at this point. I am just
looking forward to a day where my mother is not dealing with a crisis.
Besides that, I don't feel much.
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