This shall be broken down in multiples as no one cares to read a book online, or wait... yes they do. Well I'm no one and not going to pretend that I am, so I'll give you chapters. There's far too fucking much to share.
It's been awhile since I've written. For months I could barely function mentally, let alone type out each and every feeling. So instead after my surgery and complete mental breakdown I got meds, and a therapist to "deal" with every single thing that happened to me. For those of you that aren't on the up and up, I had a pretty pathetic boyfriend that cheated on me for some time with his midget (he has a fetish for chicks that are half his size - out if his mouth, not mine) "fiancee", got pregnant, had a miscarriage (of course dealing with his "cheating ways"), and then I found out I had cancer. After my surgery, I tried to get back to life as normally as I could, but let's face it... no one is that strong. And I'm pretty fucking strong! I'm the one that carries on the strong face, that is the matriarch of my family, puts each and everyone in front of myself, and tries to solve everyone's problems. I finally broke after going hard for a full four months. A usual extroverted self became completely introverted and contemplated suicide. If it wasn't for fear of thoughts of my mother doing the same after dealing with the possibility of another of her children taking their lives, I sought help.
It seem like it took MONTHS to tell my story, but an hour a session is all you get, and 40 minutes was spent crying. I had to have three sessions a week. It's amazing how powerful the mind is. I couldn't eat, my appetite still wasn't back to normal and was eating once a day - if that, and I certainly wasn't sleeping. But yet when I wasn't doing any of the above, I was trying to save everyone else around me. Usually people are quick to say how "harsh" I can be, or a bitch, but truth is, I'd do anything in the world for you. But fuck with me once, and game over. I no longer give people second chances, and no longer accept excuses for ones poor behavior. The "good Christian" girl in me would want to argue that, but life and time are too short to fix fucked up people that I just shove them to the side and make room for others that are deserving enough to be in my life. I don't care if you've had a bad day because you missed a sale, or you couldn't get your hair appointment, or someone has drama on Facebook or Twitter... talk to me about real shit and I'm down for you. Otherwise, don't waste my time... it's (my time) really that important.
So, therapy was exhausting. BUT having someone listen, to actually hear me and only offer words of encouragement even when I said that it would never work is what I needed more than anything. I have friends that will stop what they're doing (and have) to come sit in silence with me, but I needed this. I needed someone to allow me to tell my story all the while I was organizing my thoughts, putting them into drawers and cataloging them, and gently closing them behind each session. Life was beginning to find its meaning all over again, and I was beginning to look forward to new possibilities. Summer came and went, then fall approached and I was taking each day as it came... BUT finally functioning, although the bane of my existence was leering around the corner.... the holidays.
