Thursday night or Friday morning

It's 2:30am and I'm about ready to have a panic attack. I took two Ativan and will take a sleeping pill when I'm done here. I want to go crawl into bed with that male silverback gorilla and that big, bad marine that takes such good care of me. Maybe then I'll feel safe and can sleep.

Mommy came over this evening and brought me a few things. It was nice visiting and I felt safe and relaxed and NORMAL, for a while. We bought a new lamp for my bedroom and everything looks really nice in there. For some reason that feels important to me right now. That there is something pretty to look at when I open my eyes over the next few weeks.

The Marine and I were talking last night and she pointed out that some of the words I was using were indicating that I was feeling like a victim. That I needed to change my language and my attitude. I am a survivor. She is, as they so often are, right.

I am feeling like a victim right now. I feel as though I am walking down a long corridor on my way to the gallows, and at the end of that walk they will strap me down, drug me and do horrific things to my body. Things that I do not want them to do. And when they are done, I will wake up butchered, with a loss I can't even begin to comprehend or think about too much or I will throw up. I will be in pain that I did not ask for and do not want. How badly does it hurt to have your tit cut off, your underarm ripped to shreds?

I find that I am not nearly as afraid of the cancer as I am of the doctors and their cure, or as I am of the aftermath. And yet, I want to live. I want to go on being owned by The Lady and The Marine. I want to experience life and continue to learn. So while one part of me watches in horror as I walk to the gallows, and consent to this god-awful fate, the other part of me knows I must if I am to survive.

The Marine asks, am I a survivor? I am more sure of that than of most anything else about myself. I have survived enough in this lifetime to know deep in my heart I can survive anything, but death. But how does one take this walk? With courage? Courage I have or I wouldn't be taking the walk. But I am afraid my knees will be weak, and I will buckle, that some part of me will want to hang onto the door frame as I am dragged by fate to this new destination, to try to keep from entering that final room that will change my life and my body forever.

I see in my minds eye what I will do, because I know me, and know that it is the only way I will be able to get through it. I will take the maximum dose of Ativan allowed when I get up in the morning, and the closer we get the more I will disassociate, the more withdrawn and quiet and non-communicative I will become, the more robotic in my motions. And, in the end, as they put me under I will be lying there staring into nothing, dry eyed or tears streaming down my face, depending on how successful I have been. I will have to be careful, my body's greatest danger at this point will be that I go into shock. Maybe the doctors can do something about that ahead of time.

They say courage is not the absence of fear, but doing what needs to be done even when one is terrified. I am indeed, terrified.

So we know I'm a survivor and we know I have courage, how then does one get through this any more gracefully than this. How then, does one get past feeling a victim of circumstances, forced to do what she must? I wish I knew that answer.

Interesting there is no mood choice for "terrified", I guess scared will have to do.