For those of you that don’t know me or don’t know me well I may come across as this tower of strength, wafting through life with a joke and a smile;taking it all in my stride.
If you think that, I should congratulate myself, because that is the facade that I like to hide behind.
However, like most people, I can’t do it all, cope with it all, deal with it all without collecting some bashes and bruises along the way.
I wish I could cry. I’m not a good crier. If you’ve ever seen me cry you know I’ve totally come to the end of my tether. Few people have seen me cry, unless it’s the final of Junior Masterchef or something like that. To cry about my own shit? Rarely.
My default emotion is anger. Someone wise said ‘Angry is just sad’s bodyguard’ and how very true that is. This makes me incredibly hard to comfort, help, reassure because quite frankly I’m not a very nice person when I’m stressed, scared and anxious. I am that dog that will bite through fear rather than cower in the corner whimpering.
What exactly am I angry at? ……………….How long have you got?
I’m angry that cancer and treatment and operations and sickness and vaginas and appointments and hospitals and biopsies and results and prognosis and check ups are part of my and my son’s vocabulary and routine. I’m angry that I have to go through more bullshit with no guarantee that it will be the end of the bullshit. I’m angry that I’m too fucking proud to collapse in a weeping, sniveling heap. I’m angry that I’m angry.
Of course you can substitute ‘sad’ for the word angry in all of the above. But sad is weak and I am strong. Yeah right.
Someone said to me ‘I don’t know where you get your strength from’
I don’t get my strength from anywhere I just hide my weakness very well.