…move on? I mean, you had cancer. As far as you know, you don’t have cancer right now. Stop saying you have cancer. You had cancer.
I almost feel like Tom Riddle…Lord Voldemort is my past, present, and future, but in this case, I’m not a crazy wizard, and my Lord Voldemort is cancer.
It isn’t something I can just get over. It isn’t a cold. It isn’t an allergy attack. It’s a life threatening illness. It could reoccur at anytime for any reason, and the lack of control I have over this is overwhelming.
So, no, I can’t just move on. I’m in recovery. I’ve decided that’s my term. I’m a Recoverer. Maybe I’ll be a Recoverer for years and years. Maybe not. I’m in recovery. I can handle that term. If you can’t handle, though, that breast cancer drives my fears, my hopes, my dreams, my decisions, my votes…well, can’t you just understand I’ve dealt with an enemy I hope you never cross and never know?
Can’t you just understand I’m not the same person I was, but I’m trying? Can’t you just understand there are going to be good days and bad days? Can’t you just support me instead of asking me to move on?
I’m sorry not sorry I’m not handling the aftermath the way you think I should handle it. Maybe when you’ve walked my shoes, you can tell me the best way to handle the aftermath. For now, I’m handling it the best I know how, so can’t you just listen instead of reply? Can’t you just think before you speak? Can’t you stop yourself from offering advice?
Atticus had it right…put on someone else’s shoes and walk around in them. Maybe then you’ll understand. I’m happy to hand you my Vans. See how they fit you.