It’s like I ate food that I thought was good for me, but now it’s rotting inside me. The pain of heartbreak is tearing through my veins, running over feeble organs and scar tissue, with no regard for parts of me that are already injured.
“Be brave,” was the thing I said to myself, as I drove off with my stuff Tetrised into my car. We never lived together, but we came close, and he was part of my everyday existence and the co-star of my daydreams about living decades beyond cancer.
It’s easy to write about the good times – wax poetic about falling in love, and hide the ruin of broken love. But vulnerability has often brought me courage, so I’m taking the risk to share.
Often, when I’m confronted by difficulty in my post-cancer life, the pep talk that I give myself includes mantras like, “This isn’t cancer,” or “You’ve survived worse.” And those statements are indeed true. This is definitely not cancer, and I have absolutely gotten through much worse. But just because it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, doesn’t mean it tickles.
Shitty things still feel shitty to people hit by cancer.
The Bobobel story came to an end. I didn’t fail at anything. It just ended. I have no regrets that I inked that chapter – like, literally wrote a blog about it. There’s no shame in being vocal about love. No shame in loving with all of myself. No shame in keeping real.
I’ve come to know that the areas of life where I struggle the most, in turn, become the greatest lessons and where I have the most to give.
Special thank you to my Uncle Eric, Aunt Amy, Jo Ann, Mahi, Janet, Shannon, Lauren, Cynthia, Carol, and other good good friends for all their love.