Dirty Stupid Cancer
Today I received a book with a card inside of it from one of my best friends, my daughter. Her husband was coming over to stay overnight with their youngest child who is now four. The joy that I felt reading the card brought me close to tears but this time I decided to suck it up in the presence of my husband. It feels natural to hide my feelings in front of others with the exception of only one or two people in my life. My heart becomes a little more restricted when others are around me and my sense of what it is to be a man becomes challenged. I know this yet there is sometimes nothing more to do with that information, that truth, except to accept it.
Through the stinging of parts of my body and the dryness of other parts of my body, the news of more treatment is still setting in. I love denial because it keeps me from having to admit that I am scared and that perhaps I will live forever, maybe to seventy. I keep thinking I would be truly happy with ten more years. As I think about this silly thought on one hand I laugh and on the other hand I cry. I have been crying a lot these days and maybe for good reason. I am not sure if I am "being a victim" as some would refer to me or if "I think it is all about Elliott". I am not sure but what I do know is that there is some truth to what I may have otherwise taken as an insult. I know that I am reflecting back to this lively joyful man friend what he did not receive from his mother and father when on We will not be receiving or serving red wine. Not a good combination on white furniture.
Thank you.
he was asked to stop playing with Barbies with the girl across the street and then taken to a therapist that would hopefully get the feminine out of him because after all this homo stuff was a sin. Imagine being taken to a therapist at five? I feel like I could still kick the shit out of his parents for abusing their power then and now, but what I know is that they were doing what they thought was the best thing for their privileged anglo child inside a privileged anglo neighborhood at a privileged time in their lives. Did I say that out loud?
And so here I am stinging here and there and off my pain meds because I am in fear of becoming to dependent on them. That is the least of my issues and when my four year old granddaughter sees my bag and tells me exactly what the bag is for after having asked me to confirm her theory. She knew that I expelled into the bag and then the only other issue was how to I urinate. I know it is maybe too much for all of you to visualize but to her it was a simple idea coming straight from her innocent soul. It did not make me sad. It did not make me think. It did not make me uncomfortable. In fact it made me see more clearly that a colostomy bag is just what it is. It does not need to be that serious or profound and I don't have to feel like a "victim" because I have in fact endured much more in my life time. I am not sure how she knew this or if her mother had shown her one and told her. What I know is that coming from those angel lips and face I knew that it was a message of love from god. It was a message to embrace this new life and this new way of being. I am reminded that I am not a victim, I in fact am a survivor.
Where then might you ask does my friend get his material from? He is looking in the mirror when he looks at me. Every time he felt victimized he was made to feel ashamed. Every time he felt a little sorry for himself he was ignored. Every time he played with girl toys he was stopped. Every time he needed compassion he was given a good dose of "suck it up" and "Fake it till you make it". Ok, not every time. But maybe often enough to still feel the pain of hearing someone like me cry about my state of being and tell my story online for all to see. Maybe I reflect the pain and anguish he feels when he wants someone in his circle to acknowledge his pain. Maybe I need to share my story with people who want to hear it? Maybe I am going to keep telling my story until everyone out there thinks, "boy this guy is a fucking victim and boy does he whine a lot!". I wish he would shut the hell up!
So I sometimes miss the point but this time I want to explain my title. The book my daughter gave me is about the joy and lessons of cancer. I already forgot the title but I did see the woman a while back who the story is about. She embraces cancer and sees it as her teacher. I wish I were there for my daughter's sake and for my husband too. I wish I were there because that would make things easier for them. But this is not about them is it? My daughter knows that and my husband sometimes needs a reminder. My children love me and yet where I am at is a feeling that says: "Dirty Stupid Cancer" and why the fuck did this happen to me? Dirty fucking cancer is so ugly. I did not know that until now when it has begun to grow on the outside in areas where I see it. Dirty stupid dam cancer. I say God take it and throw it out for me! Dirty stupid cancer. What do I need to learn from you?
Look at your own form of cancer. Take a look at the cancerous shit in your life. Take a close look at the cancer you live with and the dormant cancer that is going to jump out of you if you don't. Look at your own cancerous thoughts, the ones that keep you from living and the ones that rob your joy. Don't wait for dirty stupid cancer to knock on the door and teach you, learn it on your own, without the kicking and screaming. A lot of you have cancer and don't know it, in fact they say a huge amount of people. The difference is that somehow you have kept it at bay because you drink a lot of water or you eat just well enough not to be attacked by it. Don't be afraid of it. Don't sing to it but don't run from it. Face the cancerous shit in your life including the assholes that are sucking the cancer rescue cells in you. Love yourself enough now to say NO I am not your play mate or NO I am not here to serve you or NO I have enough on my plate. Say NO NO NO to the cancerous cancer that will rise up inside of you if you keep saying YES when you mean NO.
I guess I have now accomplished what I thought of which is nothing. That is correct NOTHING. In reality it is my story being acted out inside your story and in the end neither one belongs to each other. I am so OK with that. That is why you are you and I am me. I am going to say that I am towards the tail end of writing this blog of mine on my crazy stupid cancer life. I am thinking that my next blog should be about decorating and pairing three objects together versus two. And another blog about how to marry things in a room. I call it that for a reason. Maybe next time I will write a blog about acting like a man but dressing for a woman? Life is so short. Maybe I will just stop writing and move into acting. I like my son in law's idea of a reality show. I am so opposite of my husband I will call it, "The New Modern Odd Couple". It's about a man like me who has kids and grandkids who married a man like my husband who does not have children. It will be about a man who met another man at a time when he was beautiful but ended up with cancer and the story that either bound them or tore them apart. I don't think anyone would be interested but boy do I love the idea of cancer being crazy and stupid. That is my real book.
Love Maximo
Through the stinging of parts of my body and the dryness of other parts of my body, the news of more treatment is still setting in. I love denial because it keeps me from having to admit that I am scared and that perhaps I will live forever, maybe to seventy. I keep thinking I would be truly happy with ten more years. As I think about this silly thought on one hand I laugh and on the other hand I cry. I have been crying a lot these days and maybe for good reason. I am not sure if I am "being a victim" as some would refer to me or if "I think it is all about Elliott". I am not sure but what I do know is that there is some truth to what I may have otherwise taken as an insult. I know that I am reflecting back to this lively joyful man friend what he did not receive from his mother and father when on We will not be receiving or serving red wine. Not a good combination on white furniture.
Thank you.
he was asked to stop playing with Barbies with the girl across the street and then taken to a therapist that would hopefully get the feminine out of him because after all this homo stuff was a sin. Imagine being taken to a therapist at five? I feel like I could still kick the shit out of his parents for abusing their power then and now, but what I know is that they were doing what they thought was the best thing for their privileged anglo child inside a privileged anglo neighborhood at a privileged time in their lives. Did I say that out loud?
And so here I am stinging here and there and off my pain meds because I am in fear of becoming to dependent on them. That is the least of my issues and when my four year old granddaughter sees my bag and tells me exactly what the bag is for after having asked me to confirm her theory. She knew that I expelled into the bag and then the only other issue was how to I urinate. I know it is maybe too much for all of you to visualize but to her it was a simple idea coming straight from her innocent soul. It did not make me sad. It did not make me think. It did not make me uncomfortable. In fact it made me see more clearly that a colostomy bag is just what it is. It does not need to be that serious or profound and I don't have to feel like a "victim" because I have in fact endured much more in my life time. I am not sure how she knew this or if her mother had shown her one and told her. What I know is that coming from those angel lips and face I knew that it was a message of love from god. It was a message to embrace this new life and this new way of being. I am reminded that I am not a victim, I in fact am a survivor.
Where then might you ask does my friend get his material from? He is looking in the mirror when he looks at me. Every time he felt victimized he was made to feel ashamed. Every time he felt a little sorry for himself he was ignored. Every time he played with girl toys he was stopped. Every time he needed compassion he was given a good dose of "suck it up" and "Fake it till you make it". Ok, not every time. But maybe often enough to still feel the pain of hearing someone like me cry about my state of being and tell my story online for all to see. Maybe I reflect the pain and anguish he feels when he wants someone in his circle to acknowledge his pain. Maybe I need to share my story with people who want to hear it? Maybe I am going to keep telling my story until everyone out there thinks, "boy this guy is a fucking victim and boy does he whine a lot!". I wish he would shut the hell up!
So I sometimes miss the point but this time I want to explain my title. The book my daughter gave me is about the joy and lessons of cancer. I already forgot the title but I did see the woman a while back who the story is about. She embraces cancer and sees it as her teacher. I wish I were there for my daughter's sake and for my husband too. I wish I were there because that would make things easier for them. But this is not about them is it? My daughter knows that and my husband sometimes needs a reminder. My children love me and yet where I am at is a feeling that says: "Dirty Stupid Cancer" and why the fuck did this happen to me? Dirty fucking cancer is so ugly. I did not know that until now when it has begun to grow on the outside in areas where I see it. Dirty stupid dam cancer. I say God take it and throw it out for me! Dirty stupid cancer. What do I need to learn from you?
Look at your own form of cancer. Take a look at the cancerous shit in your life. Take a close look at the cancer you live with and the dormant cancer that is going to jump out of you if you don't. Look at your own cancerous thoughts, the ones that keep you from living and the ones that rob your joy. Don't wait for dirty stupid cancer to knock on the door and teach you, learn it on your own, without the kicking and screaming. A lot of you have cancer and don't know it, in fact they say a huge amount of people. The difference is that somehow you have kept it at bay because you drink a lot of water or you eat just well enough not to be attacked by it. Don't be afraid of it. Don't sing to it but don't run from it. Face the cancerous shit in your life including the assholes that are sucking the cancer rescue cells in you. Love yourself enough now to say NO I am not your play mate or NO I am not here to serve you or NO I have enough on my plate. Say NO NO NO to the cancerous cancer that will rise up inside of you if you keep saying YES when you mean NO.
I guess I have now accomplished what I thought of which is nothing. That is correct NOTHING. In reality it is my story being acted out inside your story and in the end neither one belongs to each other. I am so OK with that. That is why you are you and I am me. I am going to say that I am towards the tail end of writing this blog of mine on my crazy stupid cancer life. I am thinking that my next blog should be about decorating and pairing three objects together versus two. And another blog about how to marry things in a room. I call it that for a reason. Maybe next time I will write a blog about acting like a man but dressing for a woman? Life is so short. Maybe I will just stop writing and move into acting. I like my son in law's idea of a reality show. I am so opposite of my husband I will call it, "The New Modern Odd Couple". It's about a man like me who has kids and grandkids who married a man like my husband who does not have children. It will be about a man who met another man at a time when he was beautiful but ended up with cancer and the story that either bound them or tore them apart. I don't think anyone would be interested but boy do I love the idea of cancer being crazy and stupid. That is my real book.
Love Maximo
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