…that a little (lot) of sleep, some understanding, and luck can’t help fix.
I’m not depressed. I’m not anxious. What I am is tired…and angry.
I’m tired of people wanting me to be how I was before cancer. I can’t be her. I’m sorry. Sometimes, I wish I could be her, but I’m not. I can’t be her again. Cancer happened.
I’m tired of being dismissed, looked over, or just ignored because dealing with me can be exhausting. Don’t you think I know how hard it is for you to watch me struggle to figure out life post-treatment? I know. This isn’t easy on any of us. To be selfish, though, why do I have to be the one to reach out? You know this hasn’t been an easy time. If you don’t want to be my friend because post cancer me isn’t fun or because I’m too moody, just tell me.
I’m tired of being tired. I am constantly fatigued. I can’t get enough rest. I come home from work and go straight to bed almost everyday. I just lie there. I try to sleep, but when you’re on two medications that have insomnia as a side effect, and a scumbag brain, restful sleep doesn’t happen as much as it should. It’s not like I’m purposefully forcing myself to stay awake. I can’t sleep.
I’m tired of being in pain. Every single day, I deal with aching joints, aching feet, and aching heels. All started after my first chemo treatment. If I sit for too long, standing up, putting pressure on my heels, is awful. I dread it. So, I sit. A lot. Standing too much or too long hurts, too. Again, it’s the pressure on my heels and ankle joints. I know it could be worse, but it’s still pretty bad. My feet, heels, and ankles almost constantly ache.
I’m tired of being bitchy. Don’t think I don’t know what a whiny bitch I sound like tonight. I know. Fatigue, aches, and fear of missing out on top of moving (again) and the end of a grading cycle (work) flipped my bitch switch. I guess I’ll unflip it at some point, but even when I do unflip it, things aren’t going to be fixed. Not until I can rest…deeply rest. Not until I work through the feelings that I’m doing post-cancer wrong and am going to end up with cancer again and it’ll be all my fault. Not until I figure out how to help my feet, heels, and ankles. Not until the craziness of moving, again, is over.
And even when all that happens, something new will come along and make me tired again. That’s life, I guess.