#storysofar nottheband somerealshit fuckcancer

[thefearofimperfection-blog]

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This used to be a place that I felt comfortable posting my feelings and my rants about things and so that’s what I’m doing now. I may be a lot older than I was the last time I used this interesting little site but I still don’t feel like facebook or instagram or anything (like a real blog) is something that I can take. I don’t want people that I used to go to high school with my family, my real friends...judging my feelings, my looks, my life. So I’ll post here, a hidden little gem that isn’t quite worth anything. 

October 5th: 

Today you called me really upset, and scared the living shit out of me. You’re always this little emotionless potato unless it has to do with me or video games and so I instantly knew you were legitimately afraid. You were laying on the floor and you didn’t know how but you knew you passed out after feeling a violent pain. I talked you into getting into bed and you said something I would’ve never imagined that I would hear from someone who things vegetables taste just like dirt: “I need to make a doctors appointment.” Obviously I was worried BUT I was also like wtf thank god something actually happened to this kid that made him go get a checkup...I was an inch away from using the “We’re going to disneyland!” trick and then drugging you and dropping you off at a physicians. (They can’t deny a person who’s unconscious for a checkup...right?) 

October 10th: 

You’re texting me at the doctors talking about how it’s offensive that there is no “pregnant man” emoji. I get offended because child birth is hard work and you should probably not try to make a man emoji of it. You’re laughing about how the ultrasound goop feels like snot. I am not amused. I am stressed. I have a bad feeling. 

October 11th: 

A mass. I feel sick. But it’s nothing compared to how you feel. A mass. I’m telling you to eat but you won’t. Im crying in my car because I don’t want you to know what I know. I want you to know that you’re going to be ok and that it’s malignant, benign, its nothing because you deserve nothing different. But I know what a mass means. 

October 16th:

Im at work and I have a terrible head ache. I spent all night at knott’s scary farm and I normally function fine with only a little bit of sleep but today I do not feel good. I keep texting you but you’re not awake yet and I feel like those bitches that people write songs about-the clingy chick. But something’s not right and I can’t finish grooming a single dog without crying a little bit on it. It makes it worse that dogs are literally perfect and they just lick you and understand your pain with cuddles.

Finally you text me: they want to do surgery. i don’t know why. 

At this point my poor fluffy customers look terrible and are kind of wet on their faces from tears and my boss tells me I need to go home. “Sometimes you just need to be with the ones you love, even if it all works out and he has nothing to be scared of, you wouldn’t want to miss these moments with him if he needs your support. ” What the fuck Sherry? Why are you so wise. How are you like my boss but also my cool aunt at the same time? 

This doctor’s office is terribly small. Your grandma and me don’t really have anywhere to sit especially since you’re taking up the whole patient’s cot by laying down on it playing Hearthstone. I can’t really be mad though because your’e sweating bullets and can’t win a single game. You always win. 

We’ve been here for an hour and I still haven’t seen anyone that looks like they know what’s happening and I’ve resulted to showing you dog memes to make you calm down but you’re still losing your shit. I’m trying to show you mostly corgies but the universe isn’t cooperating. 

Finally your doctor comes in. It’s cancer. I don’t really remember much after that except that I’m asking your doctor why they can’t save anything after the surgery so that maybe you can still have kids and he’s drawing this stupid torn up diagram on the cot paper (that thin annoying shit on the top of the bed) it’s tearing because he’s using a sharp pen like an idiot and he keeps drawing circles while looking at me and I want to scream at him but it’s not his fault and I want to run away really fast but there’s legitimately nowhere to go. Like...his assistant is in the doorway and I don’t feel like maneuvering around her and you’re also hugging me and I’m sobbing but I’m the only one crying and I’m having flashbacks to that night when I found out Austin’s sister was dead and I thought I would have warning but I didn’t because I had too much hope and I was blinded by my own positivity.....I didn’t get to say goodbye because it was never an option to me she was always going to beat cancer she had to. 

She had to. She had to. My brain over compensated because she had to. She couldn’t die, she was immortal, she was 15 and she was perfect. My brain told me she couldn’t lose. She had to win. But she fucking didn’t.