I feel like garbage



Where am I am today?  I am in a I fucking hate this life kind of mood.  I feel like utter shit!  I am tired of feeling this way.  I can’t feel my fingers and toes, earlier I couldn’t feel my face.  I am stressed beyond imagination and I feel like all of my hopes and dreams have been stolen from me.  I feel robbed.  I feel like I am living in this shell of a body, I am so angry.  I try and I push and I do my best to make the best of every moment.  Times like these, times like these long moments I despise the cards that have been dealt to me.  It fucking sucks, there is no other way to describe it.




Tell me of this experience, delight me with magical words of this wonderful moment!

Share with me what it was like to eat the tasty treats that were your sweet dreams.

Describe the delicacies of your passions, your tender thoughts and fuzzy feelings.




Through a clear plastic tube, a stream of poisonous goo dripped from my side.

When they pushed their scalpel against my flesh,  it opened the barrier between life and death.

It created a spirit bound wound open to the world of the living.

The sharpened knife created a cavernous cave, a hole filled with the black flies of oblivion.  They swarmed and spat, eating my breathing flesh with their vomit.

From this wound, my ego soaked doctors ate the blood caked flies from my lung, carving out and consuming the festering rat king from my chest.

Slowly I opened my eyes from this eternally dark dream.  With tears streaming down my face I stared on.

I stared on at an amorphous blob as it plopped out from the darkness.  Like smoldering tar it dripped from the ceiling.   Its skin was slick and rigid and hard to the touch.

Spindles reminiscent to a spider’s arms covered its slug like face.   Dark tentacles poured from its mouth, writhing and lashing.

It looked on at me with beady black eyes.  Its leeching gaze consumed me, latching hooks into my flesh,  it pulled me deeply into it’s bottomless pit of despair.

It hovered.  It taunted me with whispers and growls.  Its wings floated, swimming in the air like water.

The tips of its tendrils slid across my skin, reaching into the slice in my side.  It felt like slippery sand paper driving a hot iron between my ribs.  It sat on my chest, pressing into my sternum.  Its weight made each breath a struggle for air.

It pressed its face against mine, holding me in place.  Steadily and slowly it forced itself into my mouth.  I could feel its anger, its madness, its frenzied hatred… become mine.



The Cold Air of Treatment


Its akin to sprawling out on your bed with clean soft sheets wrapped around you.  When suddenly as you roll to the side you hear a soft but noticeable pop.  You look toward the corner of the bed, you know the sound  before you see it.  The sheet has come loose from the mattress.  You lay there for a moment, you could get up and remake the bed and sure, yeah it might make the experience more comfortable, but you are guaranteed to lose the comfort you currently have.

In a lot of ways this is how cancer is.  It sucks that the bed is slowly unraveling, but if you choose to try and fix it, you are guaranteed to lose something you currently have.

I love the feel of a warm bed in the morning, to have those soft clean sheets wrapped around my body.  To feel my foot slip out into the cold air, then slowly slide back into the comfort of my bundled blankets.

Eventually you will get up and fix the sheets, you will have the motivation or purpose to do whatever it is that you choose to do.  No matter what the decision is, it comes with a hefty price.  When it comes to cancer, there are no small prices to pay.

Last night I had a nightmare.  While sleeping beside my beautiful young lady friend my mind was wracked with terrible feels and dream sights.  I was in my home, this one and the house I grew up in.  Water was pouring in from the sky above and it was dripping through the ceiling and seeping through the floor.  Everything was falling apart, no matter how much I worked to rid my home of the water it continued pour.

I can remember distinctly feeling like no matter what I did, no matter what changes I made, the water would continue to be.  It would be there even if I left the house, change the roof or rebuild the floor.  I didn’t want to leave, yet at the same time I didn’t want to continuously struggle to fix everything.  Especially when everything was destined to be destroyed by the unstoppable force of the water.  My home would be uncomfortable to live in with the warped floors and wet ceilings, but that life would be better than to be cut to pieces, burned and chemically transformed.

The parallel here is that the water is the cancer and the home is my body.  I want to live, I want to live life to its fullest.  Whatever choices I choose to make in regard to my life is so that I can have the opportunity to experience it as it was meant to be enjoyed.  To make the best of what was given to me, to use what was given to me to help others and leave behind a legacy that helps others in my absence.

Selecting your treatment options should be considered with great thought. I believe it is important to consider what we will have after the surgery or treatment.  What are we giving up to have life, how much life do you need to have the experiences you want, and who’s wants are you following anyways?

Throughout my journey I found myself being pushed down roads that weren’t my own.  People manipulated me to do their wants, convincing me to believe that their wants were my wants.  This can take form in many ways, but the focus here is on your treatment.  When your loved ones or doctors are pressuring you to do something you don’t want to, its like having those warm blankets ripped from you, forcing you to be exposed to the cold air.

Those blankets are yours, they are yours to do with as you see fit.  Get out of bed and peel off those sheets by your terms.  Stand up for yourself, be your own advocate and choose your treatment for you, not for the wants of someone else, be it your wife, child or doctor.  Right now we only have one life to live, live it by your terms.

November 6, 2016

November 6, 2016

The power of this fatigue is incredible. I have never felt so exhausted in my life. The draining energy sensation is felt all the way to the center of my bones.

In these moments when all there is, is that one sensation, I do my best to become one with it. There is no sense in fighting something I cannot stop.

To fight the sensation is to squander the potential of the experience. It doesn’t make it any easier, it simply shows value to a moment I might have otherwise not saw.

November 4, 2016

November 4, 2016

Easily the most uncomfortable treatment thus far. I feel miserable and Im tired of going through this.

It hurts and Im out of energy but this too shall pass. I look back and know it will become a tool that I will use to help someone else.

The chemotherapy is just one of many rites of passage into the world of helping others.

A caretaker by name only

A caretaker by name only

Abusers and Takers reveal their true identity when asked to take responsibility.

When you draw a line in the sand and ask them not to cross it, they push and cry and whine.
They say “Woe is me; I am the victim!”
They are envious, but not of the loss of lung or the cancer or the chemo, but of everything else you have worked for or earned.
That money, the stuff used to allow you survive, they believe a part of it is theirs.
They shouldn’t have to pay, they shouldn’t have to do, they can’t do this, they can’t do that.
They cry and fuss when they are expected to turn Adult into Adulting.

But what about the things they just bought? They need money to pay its taxes, they need money to pay their payments and insurance… what about their insurance?

It is not your fault that they bought a thing beyond their means. A thing with the intent to attract instead of to deliver. It is not your fault that they lost their job.
It’s not your fault that they have refused every opportunity put before them, the free education, tools, insurance, guaranteed employment.
Its not your fault that they volunteered to move in with you, to help you survive when you were terrified of what was to come.
Its not your fault when they did nothing to take care of you.
Its not your fault when you had to take care of yourself and this Taker who took what you had and lived like a child.

A child who said you would look stupid and ugly once your hair started falling out, who told you that you were weak, a child who was adamant about the things they believe you cannot do.

Abusers and Takers reveal their true identity when asked to take responsibility.
When that line is drawn in the sand and they see they can no longer force you with their will, they make you the monster.
They say “Woe is me; I am the victim!”
They say “How dare you expect me to help you, how dare you expect me to pay to play, to live, to eat.”

And so in the end they give you a gift, they give you the gift of freedom and peace.
Freedom from them and peace of mind.