Own it, just keep rockin it...

This week has been tough, not physically, but in all the junk in my brain. The last couple of weeks really. So much chatter going on in that brain, so much darkness, it's weighing me down. Pushing me into that dark, murky, danger zone that is hard to crawl out of. Disclaimer, there's going to be some nasty language today, because I'm just going to keep it real with you. Flaws n' all.

So as I'm trying to dig myself out of this just massive pile of crap in my head, yesterday I had the appointment with my surgeon to set up the date and talk about my double mastectomy. You know, the part I'm dreading the most. There wasn't any surprises in the conversation, nothing I didn't really already know. But by the end of it I wasn't just depressed, I was full blown pissed off. Just done with all of this, every bit of it. Since then I've been filled with So. Much. Anger.

Today, I'm sitting there in chemo, probably looking like a fuming bitch with rage just boiling in my eyes, ready to tell everyone to just fuck right off for no reason at all. Because I didn't want to be there, sitting there for hours getting filled with poison. Poison that makes me want to puke, poison that had me curled up in pain all day, poison that causes excruciating pain in my fingertips as my fingernails die. I can't even put on my own damn socks anymore. Poison that's making me gain weight. Poison that makes me hate everything about what's happening to my body. I was hating my life and everything I've still yet to go through.

Like surgery. Losing my breasts. And I'm sitting there, just looking for an excuse to go off on someone, anyone, because I hate my life now and I just need to scream at someone until I cry. So I'm sitting there, not saying a word and foot tapping (because that's what I do when I'm super pissed), feeling justified in my anger. I'm allowed to be angry, every bit of what I'm going through just sucks beyond all suck. I'm allowed to have bad days, I'm allowed to hate my life, I'm allowed to be angry and pissed off. I'm entitled to that because this just sucks. I don't want any part of this. Not one damn bit of it.

When you're getting chemo, you have to make small talk, because the nurses are friendly and they just converse with you while they help you. It's what makes them awesome. And as the day is rolling along, I'm feeling exhausted by all this anger and depression. It's just too damn heavy to keep carrying through the day. The nurse pops back in at certain points so you chat some more, make jokes and laugh. And something felt very odd to me to go from laughing with her one second, and then you're what, just supposed to go back to instant bitch face the second she walks away? That doesn't seem right. Didn't feel right.

Part of me was trying to hold onto that anger, seriously trying, I had a death grip on that and no one was going to deprive me of my anger. Be pissed about losing your breasts, it's okay, you're allowed to be angry. It's what makes you look and feel like a woman, you have every right to be angry. But then I'm thinking, well, why though? Does carrying this depression and anger help me get through this, will it change my path and what I have to go through? That's a big fat, nope, won't change anything. So am I just going to end up this bitchy, fat, boobless not-womanly looking woman? That doesn't sound like a good plan either. Well what the hell do I do now then??

I spent the afternoon staring at the TV, not really talking, because I had all this madness going on in my head still and I just can't turn the volume down on it. I wanted to be pissed off, but being pissed off really isn't going to help me either. No matter which way you flip that coin, my path is the same, the challenges are the same, the physical changes are the same. No matter what, this is the path God wants me walking down...

It wasn't until I got home that I was actually calm. Still thinking, but calm. I'm in the bathroom, brushing my teeth and staring at my chest. Look at them head on, turn to the side, examine them at all angles. I look pretty flat in a hoodie, there's not a whole lot of visible action going on there. Mentally, I'm just exhausted, carrying all of this shit around with me. I rinse, wipe my mouth, stare for a minute longer, and then tell God that I don't want to be angry anymore. I don't want to be depressed anymore. I can't carry it on my shoulders, I'm already carrying too much. Please, take this load from me because it's making me fall.

A little bit later, I'm thinking about the shirts I'll need for after the surgery. I'm just going with flannels because I won't be able to lift my arms to pull a shirt down over my head, and I'll have 4, yes 4, of those stupid drains hanging out of me. Button-down is the way to go. Mental note, buy lots of flannels on Black Friday. I feel pretty okay with that, I've been rockin flannels since before flannels were cool again. Wear my flannels like a boss. And somehow, in this moment of thinking about rockin flannels, I decide that's just what I'll do with my boobless chest. I'll own it, I'll rock that shit like I do with everything about my style. Because I don't care about what's in, what's trending, or what you think of my outfit. I really don't care. I wear what is me, I own it, and I rock it. So why can't I just do the same with my stupid flat boobless chest? My husband looks great in flannels and he doesn't have any boobs, so why can't I look good that way too? And literally just like that, my decision was made, and all that stupid chatter in my head just stopped. There was nothing. Just, calmness. I'll own it, and I'll rock it, because I don't care about being a little different.

I'd love to say this decision was all mine, that I'd solved my problem myself and am again on a mentally healthier path by my own doing. But I'm not that dumb. I asked God to carry the load, because it was too heavy for me, you see. So he took the extra weight onto his shoulders so I can stay on the path he set out before me.

It doesn't matter how much time you have, it only matters what you choose to do with the time you are given...