Because I don’t know what else to do, but write. I try to tell my story, as brief or as long as I can muster the mental capacity. I write all my fleeting thoughts down in a frenzy of how they appear on the lens of my mind. If I pause for too long, the wisps of cognition loose shape and become scattered. And my fragile mind acts like a net capturing my delicate intent.
I write about the job I once had designing spaces for the company California Closets. Having just received word of my termination, I have not even the space in my mind to currently process what this means. I did love this job. And it allowed me to express myself and create beautiful places for my clients. But I have to close this door for now and move on. I do not know what I will do, when my health allows me to do it.
I write to explain my latest medical developments. There is an area of my cancer tumor that does not want to cooperate with my grand vision of healing. So my Doctors have pulled the rug out from underneath my treatment in the attempt to shake things up. The chemotherapy I had been on since December 19′ was no longer keeping the tumor from growing. So my new battle begins with the hope that my new pill popping regiment will kill this thing eating my brain for breakfast. Two different cancer drugs I now take, Lomustine and Procarbazine. I am still tying to master preparing food for myself that now has to be Keto and low in Tyramine. Coffee, chocolate, red wine, soy products, aged cheese, processed meats and avocados are just a few of my new restrictions.
I write because it distracts from the news. Its all numbers and figures, angry shades of red and blue. I know the importance of staying informed, but my intake capacity is just too overwhelmed. I write to create enough mental jabber to drown the downpour of political vulgarity and dooming global realities.
I write because it allows me to question the dark clouds that fill my mind. And I ask why I let the darkness in? What happened to my peace of mind? What happened to humanity?
“Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Within the sound of silence”
I write so the world can go silent, just for a moment. And remember why we exist . . . for one another.