Tuesday, March 26, 2013


The accumulation of empty bottles in my recycling bin leads to me believe that I may be getting a bit heavy handed with the alcohol of late. The fact that I'm on a first name basis with the bartenders at several establishments and haven't even been in the state a month yet doesn't help my case. Sure, I'm originally a native, but only one of these bars existed when I lived here.

I know what I'm doing is avoidance, and using alcohol to help keep my thoughts from turning to the big C-word that's always lurking in the back of my mind. Avoiding it isn't the best way to deal with it, but I don't have the luxury of having a breakdown at the moment. So I keep busy, and avoid thinking about the elephant in the room - y'know, if elephants fucking caused the suffering and death of loved ones to be reduced to a bullshit statistic. Pardon the French, cancer pisses me off to an irrational extent lately.

I know I'm not alone or unique in dealing with this, far from it, but being part of a sad statistic doesn't really make it any easier to watch as loved ones and the loved ones of loved ones painfully waste away.

What I would like to do more than anything else - aside from the impossible feat of finding a way to kick cancer's proverbial ass - is to scream until my voice fails me and my throat is bloody and raw. I want to rage Hulk style until the anger is burned out and I'm too tired to think about the fact that everyday a beloved maternal figure is wasting away to this curse in Ohio and I'm out of state and unable to do anything about it. Or nearby, my best friend's father has been given a prognosis measured in weeks. Freaking weeks, the doctor gave him an expiration date of 6-8 weeks.

I'm not one to throw hatred around casually, but I hate everything about cancer. The helplessness and hopelessness not being the last of the things to hate about the suffering sickness.

Even fixating on Dragon*Con, my distraction of choice, has lost effectiveness. Or maybe I just ran out of videos to watch on the convention. Either way, I'm running out time that I can push off dealing with this. Drinking can only stall it for so long, and that'll just take me down a path I'd rather not tread. I know I have to start facing this. Soon. I wanted to join the cancer support group here to that end, but they specify as being open to only caregivers and survivors and so no room for those who have to watch helplessly and uselessly.

Until then, I'm making the Insanity and P90X workouts my obsession of choice. Whenever I still have to energy to form coherent thought, I don the weighted vest and bands until I'm too exhausted to allow those thoughts to take dark wanderings. Though apparently that idea is better in theory, if I have the energy to type this out.

Enough of this emo crap. I wonder if my tattoo guy is awake, I'm tired of playing phone tag.