debutaunt.com

Tomorrow Comes Too Fast for Me

I have my six month bone marrow biopsy and aspiration Monday (aka, today, it's 4am and I can't sleep). They sedate you here.

As my sweetest friend used to say, "I ain't gonna lie."

I'm scared.

I drive by this funeral home all the time. I'm so tempted to go in and buy some prepaid funeral thing. I've been feeling really unsure lately. I've been hearing about way too many deaths. I've been watching too much Six Feet Under. Enough already!

I cried at mass today. I was saying my rosary. It was the rosary the hospital volunteers gave me when I had encephilitis. I remember having it in my pocket with this stone my friend D1 gave me. The stone is clear and has a white angel in it. I would't let anyone take it away from me. I held it all in my hand most of the time. I couldn't remember my prayers to go with the rosary back then, but I knew somehow that it was important to me. So I carried my cellphone and my rosary bag/stone with me everywhere. I couldn't figure out how to use my phone except to call Monkeyboy. And even then, he'd text me to call his cell, and I'd end up always calling his office. But looking at the rosary again, just made me cry.

I sat in church and just started getting frightened about tomorrow. I prayed. I prayed that the biopsy won't hurt. I prayed for my results to be clean still. I really hope it's in God's plan that I never relapse or get cancer again. I was strong the first time, but now I feel broken. Weak. Vunerable. Like I wouldn't be able to go through that ordeal again. That I couldn't put my family through it again. That I wouldn't be able to survive it this time.

And that I wouldn't want to do it alone. Meaning, I went through the majority of my treatment with Monkeyboy by my side. I felt loved and beautiful. He reminded me to be strong, even in the middle of the night when I'd call him. He reminded me that we had our great future to look forward to, so our number 1 priority was for me to get better. He cheered me up all day, every day. It was the sweetest thing. He was a great boyfriend.

Even when I was at my sickest. I felt like a teenage girl. I was head over heels with this man who knew me almost better than I knew myself. I'm sure he still does. It wasn't so much of the support, but the knowledge that this man truly and absolutely loved me carried me through it. That I was as much of a support to him as he was to me. I was his sunshine. And he was my rock.

Now that I'm on my own, I'm sure I could do it, but it would just be so lonely. Bad enough I had to be apart from my Zkat for months on end, but the majority of the time I was alone. I know I had tons of support from my friends, my family and the internets, but it isn't the same, and still felt really lonely. I could never replace him or his love and support, so I'm not. I couldn't find a man who loves me more than that. More than bald. More than vomiting. More than encephilitis. More than hallucinating and crying and paranoia. More than doctors and needles and steroids and shots and biopsies and tests. More than my cancer. He just loved me. Just me. His Deb.

Well, I'm can't allow myself to worry about it. It makes me too sad. I just can't do it. I kicked cancer's ass. And I've made a few San Antonio friends. I still cry about him. I still miss my boy. I always will, but it really is his loss. I know it. I sometimes have to try to convince myself of that. Sometimes you all have to convince me of that. But I also know he knows it**.

I can do this. I have a sweet cowgirl by my side.

Your assignment is to wish me luck. Or find me a new boyfriend. Actually I think I need to erase my brain like in The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. But if you send me one, make him tall.

And this is what is known as the patented deb_bitch. If you're not up for it, close it out now.

" I always will, but it really is his loss. I know it. I sometimes have to try to convince myself of that. Sometimes you all have to convince me of that. But I also know he knows it**."

**Even his "idiot wife" knows it too.

And no, I don't feel bad about calling her that. Because she's such a pathetic, sad, creepy person that she couldn't help herself. And she reads my blog. (she and her daughter both sent me nasty emails - how cool are they?) I hope they are :cough:pretendingtobe:cough: happy staying married together.

Secretly both hating their lives. Just like before.

I'd rather have cancer. Actually,
I'd rather have cancer of the butt than be stuck in a marriage where "I should have divorced her ten years ago."

Yeah, we "didn't have a relationship," right? I was "chasing" him. He just "felt sorry" for me. That's why he had to talk to me like 24/7. He always needed his "debtime." That's why he came to visit me repeatedly. Mrs. Idiot, don't believe one fucking word he says about me. I'm sure he will say whatever he has to in order to get in your good graces again. (yeah AGAIN - just like last time) You may have known him longer, but I'll always know "the real" him better. The person he really is when he's not being judged and belittled and insulted. When he truly is being loved. And I "ain't gonna lie," I KNOW I'll always kiss him better. (whoops, guess you will have to think about me every time you kiss him)

[aside]
Generally I never believe any married man and his complaints against his wife. But then the witch sent me an email. Not to mention, where was she when he was making 2-3-6 hour phone calls to me all night? Every night? (this was before I knew he was even married - before he moved out) So basically, I'm like, case closed. Where is my Grade A lousy, creepy wife stamp? I'm sure he drove her to it, but she's the dumbass that didn't kick him out for good.

There you go. I should charge you all for this marriage counseling. You both now can have a solidarity in your hatred for me.

And Mrs. Idiot, will you finally STOP READING MY BLOG. I want to move on. I need to move on. Before Zoe is old enough to read all of this. Kind of like how you told your children about their dad, the man whore, and sent them on spying missions on his email and phone records. You even installed spyware at his office. Isn't that illegal? What address do I send the mother of the year award to? Oh. Wait. I already know it exactly. It's the house he was going to buy for us when we got married. Your house. On the river. It's a beautiful house, but holds lots of ugly secrets.

Posted by debutaunt at August 28, 2006 04:04 AM