Late in the winter of my seventeenth birthday, my mother decided I was depressed. Most likely because I never left the house, spent most of my time in bed, reading and watching Twin Peaks over and over, ate small amounts and devoted most of my free time staring at the roof thinking about death.
Whenever you read a cancer booklet or website or whatever, it'll always have depression among the side effects of cancer. Don't believe it. That's wrong. Depression is a side effect of dying. Almost everything is.
But my parents believed I needed treatment so they took me to see my doctor. He agreed that I was very depressed and my meds were adjusted and I had to start attending a weekly Support Group.
This Support Group I went to featured a rotating cast of characters in various states of tumour-driven unwellness. The rotating was a side effect of dying as well.
Though, The Support Group was depressing. It met every Friday in a basement of a church that had a large triangle on the wall. We all sat in a circle just in front of the triangle. I still have no idea what it means.
I noticed this because Janna, the Support Group Leader and only person over eighteen in the room, talked about it every morning.
After Janna stops talking about her backstory, we introduce ourselves: Name. Age. Diagnosis. And how we are doing today.
I'm Daniel, I'll say when they get to me. Seventeen. Thyroid originally but with an impressive and long settled satellite colony in my lungs and I'm doing okay.
Short story. I hated Support Group and I didn't want to go. In fact the very Friday I met Kyle Simmons, I had tried my very best to not go so I could watch season one of twin peaks. Again.
