People close to me know how much it hurt when Maya left. Obviously, no one likes a break-up, and of course it’s harder to be the one dumped than the one choosing to leave. But to hear a womyn tell me she would be there fighting with me through the whole thing, and then to experience that person walking away from me just two months later was immensely crushing. I never wanted to go through cancer treatment in the first place. Had I had my way, I would have racked up obscene debts on credit cards as I flew to various places around the world, living life like I had no cares whatsoever.
But I made a choice. For a girl. Who left. And then my friends swooped in and picked up my broken pieces, and I kept fighting. For them. Not for me.
The first time around, I was definitely not fighting for me.
And when I survived, there was a part of me that was disappointed. It was like there was all this build up to fight for my life … and when I *won,* I looked around at the fragmented pieces of me and my world, and I just couldn’t understand what I had fought so hard for. Coupled with that realization came survivor’s guilt. Why did *I* make it? I’m a single womyn, with no children, no significant other, no cataclysmic impression on the universe … just some broken down girl who was kind of already done with life by the time she hit 30 and was foolish enough to make a bunch of promises to a girl who really never intended to stick around. 2017 fucking SUCKED … because all around me, people were so happy, so impressed, so proud that I beat down everything that tried to break me in 2016 … yet all I kept thinking was, “So, I’m still here. Great. Now what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
If my cancer had come back in 2017, it would have been a no brainer. I know exactly what I would have done with the $250,000 that my house would sell for – and NONE of it involved surviving. I would have lived and experienced all I could with a quarter of a million dollars. I would have done copious amounts of drugs and put myself in high-risk situations, and I would have died that same year, without a trace of chemo drugs or radiation treatments in my system – and, if I’m being honest, without any loved ones by my side.
Now it’s 2019, the cancer is back, and I can’t help but wonder: Am I going through this same experience because I didn’t do enough of the right things before? Is this a do-over? Am I getting a second chance so that I make better choices and utilize better motives this time around?
This second time around, am I supposed to decide whether or not I am willing to fight for ME?
That’s gonna be hard. ‘Cuz I’m in love now. Like, for real – in love. The last time I was in love was eight years ago, and it was fucking awful, and I steered clear of this kind of relationship for such a long time afterward. But I’m in it. And I don’t want to leave.
And I am freaking out that in this “second chance” that cancer is giving me, I am already repeating some of the same mistakes I made the first time.