First, I loss my health. It happened when the tumor grew. It grew so fast I lost the time to choose. They said I’d lose my fertility, too.
Then I lost my hair, my body. It shrunk and shriveled up like a tight claw. The inside of me did, too.
It hurt so bad I lost my patience, my forgiveness, my wisdom. To those who said hurtful things when I shared my story, who thought it was clever to be critical, I’m no better than you. If I could, I’d give you my cancer, too.
I used to be beautiful. People told me and I knew it, too. If you still think I’m beautiful, then you don’t see what I do.
I lost my house because sometimes people can be cruel. I have no home, nowhere that’s mine. My spirit lost its home, too.
Then, worst of all, and so painful I still don’t believe it’s true, I lost my love. If I’m honest, I saw it happening, I knew. I watched — hands pressed against the glass — and there was nothing I could do.
I lost my trust, the feeling that things are safe and fair. I see the world, and I don’t like the view.
I’m in a hole. I’m sorry I see the bad better than the good. I’m sorry I’m not your cancer hero. I’m sorry my writing is overdue. I look up, and think, maybe I should try harder to crawl out. But can I? Do I want to?
People say it will get better. That bad things don’t last forever. But to me, the days move so slowly they seem like universes, blinking. Black and blue, black and blue, black and blue.