24 hours.

Tomorrow I go to Rose's RMCC to start my second month of chemotherapy and to meet with Dr. F. to find out what impact the first month had.  Pretty nervous about that.

I started up a CaringBridge site again for letting people know what's going on with my health.  I just can't see me linking this blog to the majority of people I know -- it's vastly too personal to share with random Facebook contacts.  "Hi, here's me talking about being suicidal" is not really a facet of my existence I feel like sharing with everyone I know.  I understand that these posts here aren't locked but they also aren't linked to me personally -- I don't mind just putting this stuff out there like this because it's effectively anonymous.  Different email account, etc.  And if some cyber-sleuth is so intrigued they had to Sherlock Holmes this all, well, they could have just asked and I would have let them know it was me anyhow.

My therapist woke me up this morning and told me she was getting a strep throat culture so we should probably reschedule.  I appreciated that, although I had been looking forward to our session today.  Having decided to give antidepressants a try and having had an emotionally challenging week it would have been nice to have someone kind to talk to today.  Ah well.


My parents are being fucking abysmal this week.  Not going into details but what bothers me is their son has cancer and they just cannot put aside their own bullshit and deal with it, and me, on a caring level.  I don't know if that's because they just don't get that I have this, even though they know it's true (they went to the Mayo Clinic with me) or they're just not wired right but they are piling on stress to such a level that I'm having trouble dealing with it.  That kind of sucks, you know?  Everyone else I know that is involved in this somehow, from friends to family, is being so nice and understanding, trying to do the best they can.  My own parents?  They just seem to be ignoring it.

It's hard not to feel like that's unfair, somehow, but for fuck's sake, I have cancer.  CANCER.  As in terminal illness.  I'm not asking for anything more than one thing -- please just don't stress me out.  Let me try to heal and make life as peaceful as you can for me by considering what I am going through.  I'm fighting for my life here, man, and more importantly to be Ariana's daddy for as long as I can.  Why would you risk fucking that up for me?  It's sabotaging the little emotional and mental stability I am desperately clawing for.

Reason # 5,687,245,908,001 why you NEVER WORK WITH YOUR FUCKING FAMILY.  I'm tied in here by salary and health insurance now.  Biggest mistake I will ever make in my life (knock on wood).  Amy's convinced they are going to be the literal death of me now.  My therapist feels the same way. 

I'm coming around to that viewpoint.