Counting to Zero.

To my nana,

For her cancer, opened my eyes to the limited amount of seconds I actually have on this earth.

Counting to Zero

August 21, 2013

Dying. N. Something that is constant and will always be constant, it is unavoidable.

I wasn't afraid of dying, I realized as the rain beat against my window. I stretched my long slender legs out and touched them to the soft green wall on the other side of my window seat and stared at the feather tattoo on my leg. I desperately wanted to be those birds, flapping their wings against the sky, never being held back, always free. I wasn't afraid of not feeling pain the anymore, of not having to go to the doctor only to find out the treatment that's been making me vomit the last six weeks didn't work. I'm not afraid of not waking up to the sound of my mom crying, kneeling beside my bed whispering things like "she's too young" and "take me instead." I'm not afraid of it all being.... Over.

Over. V. The moment in time when everything stops.

I was ready for everything to be over. My hospital stays, the doctor visit, the crying. The constant feeling like I could make one wrong move and come tumbling down like a deck of cards. I was ready for the constant feeling of drowning to stop, the constant gasping for breath as another experimental treatment was forced into my body. I was ready for my body to stop killing itself over and over and over again.

I was ready, I had been ready, I had come to terms with all of it, Daniel. Until I met you. Only then did that thought of dying, or my life being over, scare me.

Love. V. The one thing I swore I would never put another person through.

I watched the love my parents felt for me destroy them, I didn't want to do that to you, or anyone else for that matter. I just wanted to spend my last summer, living, and I mean really living.I didn't want to be the dying girl, or the it's almost over girl, or the I love you enough to save you girl. I just wanted to be a girl. I just wanted to be me for three months, or thirteen weeks, or ninety-two days, or two thousand one hundred and eighty-four hours, or one hundred and thirty thousand and forty minutes, or; my favorite; seven million eight hundred and sixty-two thousand and four hundred seconds. Saying how many seconds made me feel like I had a lifetime of them, when really I just had three to four months of them, left.

Cancer. V. Something that effects more than the person infected. A life changer.

Because when you have cancer, every second counts. And I was counting them, I was counting how many I had already used, how many I spent with you, and how many I had until zero. Because every second I was becoming closer and closer to zero. I never thought at eighteen I'd already be out of time. Out of seconds.

Daniel,

I hope this journal brings the closure you need to keep on living. Because I hope your seconds keep counting, even after my seconds stop