terrible things e.s.

preface

You know that feeling? When your just waiting. Waiting to get home, into your room, close the door, fall into bed, and just let everything out that you kept in all day. That feeling of both relief and desperation. Nothing is wrong. But nothing is right either. And your tired. Tired of everything and tired of nothing. And you just want someone to be there for you and tell you it's okay, even though it's not. But, no ones going to be there. And you know you have to be strong, for them, for yourself, because no one can fix you. But your tired of waiting. Tired of having to be the one to fix yourself, having to hang on for everyone else. Tired of being strong. And for once, you just want it to be easy. To be simple. To be helped. To be saved. To be cured. To be healthy. Yet, you still know you won't be. But, your still hoping. And your still wishing. And you're still staying strong and fighting, with tears in your eyes. You're fighting with everything you have, because you can't stand the thought of you being the cause of someone else's sadness.

That is cancer. That is sickness. That is the real pain in it. The emotional pain that comes with the disease, which is sometimes worse than the pain itself.
The physical pain. The blood-curdling, bone deep pain that floods your arms, your legs, your toes to your neck. The kind that makes you so weak that it takes all that you have just to keep your eyes open. The pain that puts so much stress on your body that your hair gradually starts to thin away until there's nothing left. And even that pain, is nothing compared to the emptiness in your chest.

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This no longer has anything to do with this plot. Oops. But I'm too lazy to take it down and I like it. It might come up toward the end of the book, who knows.