Blondie

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When I was first diagnosed, almost anything and everything was making me weepy. Lately, I've been finding myself feeling a little more even keeled, more able to think about things and even talk about them without my eyes welling up. Still, there are a couple touchstones that bring about instant tears, one being the possibility of my big brother losing all 3 of his sisters. That feels cursed, though on the flip side, it does help me to stiffen my resolve to do what I need to do to stick around.

On the other hand, when I think about losing my hair, sometimes I almost feel like I'd rather die than go bald. I’ve just always had my identity tied to my hair. I really can’t stand the thought of losing it. Yes, I know it’ll grow back. Yes, I know it’s only hair. Yes, I know I need to channel my brave explorer girl from my last post, yes, yes, yes, I know all that.

BUT, there's this intense fear, this deep well of vulnerability, this sense of losing what makes me me, that keeps my tears still springing. It insistently defies what probably should be easy logic.

Maybe I’ll come out stronger by facing this fear. More empathetic. More humble. Maybe I'll feel like losing my hair was the least of my problems. Maybe I'll look back, shake my head, and be boggled by how vain and shallow I was. Maybe I'll end up just grateful to simply be still alive.

Yet, here, in this particular particle of my interlude, damn, all I can say is... this one hurts....




In Interlude,
Julie



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