thefearofimperfection-blog
Atelophobia
My name is Nichole. Orange County, California . Everyone is just trying to be more original than everyone else and I don't care.
9580 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
phdcafe
phdcafé
phdcafe
phdcafé
not-ur-average-agere
finding childlike joy in un-childish things
whatever-beyond-happen-rate
Untitled
stellaisla27
Untitled
Text
2
Still October 16th except I had to gather my emotions (in the current day) to continue and actually make sense so
Still October 16th:
“You’re not doing surgery tomorrow.” I’m being a bitch at this point. I tell them to leave the room because I need a minute with my boyfriend. Because he’s mine. And I can have that if I damn well please. I can talk to him because I CAN control some little things in this fucked up world and at this particular (possibly irrational) moment I am choosing that I need a word with him. Alone.
I’d like to think that I was a very strong individual at this moment but really I was a blubbering mess that’s nose was disgustingly dry from tissues. He’s making it worse because he’s kissing it. I’m trying to tell him that I want to mother his children in a nice way but it’s kinda not nice or romantic when you just have to get out between sobs that you “Waaa-waaaant B-b-b-aaa-baaaabies” *wipes snot*
But I somehow manage to do it and to my relief (even though we both are truely terrified of children and don’t understand why they don’t come out being able to talk) we both decide that despite the disgusting amount of money that we will have to spend: he will do sperm banking. And despite the doctors suggestion of immediate surgery, he will wait a week. Is that selfish? Am I a terrible human being? If that week makes a drastic difference and I end up without a fucking husband and all that’s left is his sperm in a lab with snooty receptionists-I swear to god-
Anyways. The doctor tells me that a week most likely wont make a difference. WOOP WOOP IM HAVING A CHILD. Not yet but maybe eventually idk who knows. So I call and set up as many appointments for sperm banking as I can, but there are only 3 available. Only three little viles of spermies. Only three little chances at baby booming it. But hey, technology is a mother fucking gift and if I have to get artificially inseminated you better believe I’m gonna win that shit and have a gorgeous goddamn baby.
(My positivity was coming from a “I can do anything I set my mind to” type of atmosphere until I realized that the only thing that Doesn’t apply to is getting pregnant. You can not just get pregnant with mind over matter. You need a legitimate man.)
Comedic relief provided by: my incapability to cope with real life.
October 17th:
Im sending you nudes because, really, IDK what else I’m supposed to do about my boyfriend being in a sperm bank. Like, say good luck? No...
October 20th:
Today’s scan day and I’ve literally never actually shit so much in my life. Sorry, but it’s true. I’m so nervous I actually think that my hair is falling out and you’re all just sitting there like “can we get in n out later” “since I have cancer do I have to go to work” “do you think people with cancer can get out of speeding tickets” “do you think people will watch my stream if i tell them i have cancer?” I know you’re just trying to make me laugh and it’s working but I’ve also cried the same amount as a new born baby this morning and I think I’m dehydrated to the point of not knowing where we are. Despite both of us clearly feeling like shit we can’t help making laughing in the lobby and disrupting all the old people who have to have their kids bring them in for scans every month. That’s just how we are and thats why I love the shit out of you. I don’t remember a time when we didn’t laugh our asses off at something. But at this particualr moment I also hate it because this scan that you’re about to have could either ruin our entire lives, or lock it in. It could either be me, alone, missing you every second of forever. Or, together forever. And I’m terrified.
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
1
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.
0 notes
Quote
learn me slowly.
please, be patient
with my pages.
(via clinginess)
(via judgedteenblogger)
59K notes
·
View notes
Photo
Love as an offering…
To love is not to possess the other person or to consume all their attention and love. To love is to offer the other person joy and a balm for their suffering. This capacity is what we have to learn to cultivate.
~Thich Nhat Hanh
227K notes
·
View notes
