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This is an anonymous diary.

I’m writing about cancer, remission, and what doesn’t end when treatment does. This is not a recovery story or a lesson in strength. It’s not inspirational, and it isn’t meant to be.

I write only from my own experience. I don’t speak for anyone else. Some days will be quiet. Some days will be angry. Some days may not make sense at all.

This space exists so I can tell the truth without translating it for comfort.

What happens is that your emotions go from one extreme to the next. One day you’re happy, the next hour you’re sad, the next minute you’re drunk. What does that mean?

Nothing.

It doesn’t have to mean anything.

Your body is already going through so much, why should you have to worry about your mind too. I mean you should, otherwise you might not be able to ‘function’, but is the why important?

I’m literally, and yes I am using that word correctly, all over the place.

One minute I’m OK, the next I’m depressed, the next I’m working out like crazy, the next I’m counting calories, the next I can’t sleep, the next I’m sleeping too much…. I can go on. But you get it. It’s a mind fuck.

It’s hard enough dealing with one emotion. Imagine with 10+ at the same time. It’s fucking confusing especially when you’re trying to pretend you’re sane and can ‘live’ amongst the ‘normal’ folk.

You’re not normal. What is normal? You were given a death sentence for the second time. Fuck dealing with that the first time. The dealing with it a second, third etc.

Life’s a bitch, no matter what anyone says.

We are all here just trying to live it the best way we can and know how. There is no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way, there is only your way. I can speak for myself and say there is only MY way, whatever that is…

- The Aftermath

What is a non-day? It’s a day where you choose what you want to do and what you just can’t be bothered to do because something or someone or both, happened to you. It’s also a day where you just don’t want to fucking do anything.

I’ve been chasing results for a urine sample for 3 months. Current results = inconclusive. I’ve just given two urine samples in two days with the promise of something… I stopped listing after I was handed the vessel to pee into.

All the chasing, the calls, the multiple clinic visits. It’s all for what? All it does is make me feel more stressed, want to curl up in bed and watch Netflix.

But I can’t do that. I can’t have a non-day until the weekend because I have to work.

I find myself becoming more and more and more exhausted with each passing minute.

I just want to turn my brain off.

- The Aftermath

For context, I was 10 years at the end of my [1st] cancer experience. I say 1st, but I’d prefer to say only. I have one option.

I was anxious. I’m anxious before every appointment. But I was even more anxious because I’d already felt a new lump.

I attempted to brush it off as I had been very ill for 3 weeks. Some random flu or virus. But deep down, I knew. It’s fascinating how easily your body knows when something wrong, and even more so when it decides to give you the gift of cancer a second time.

I was hopeful. I always am. But alas, it was not meant to be my ‘only’ experience. My journey was not over. 13 days after I was given the all clear, I was told my cancer had relapsed.

So here I am, 2.5 months after my last infusion, feeling the aftermath yet again. It is different, and I will eventually get into that.

But right now, I’m taking myself out to see a show, by myself, again.

What I’ve learned this second time around, is that doing it alone (and this is not to discount the family and friends that have been there for me - they have been amazing within their capacity, I mean come on people, we all have lives) becomes exhausting and cumbersome.

Going to appointments alone, hearing results alone, planning alone, coming home after an infusion alone, doing the basics like grocery shopping and laundry alone; it all becomes cumbersome, fastidious, irritating, frustrating, and whatever other words you might think I of.

I am writing this at this very moment because I am out to the theatre alone. And while it is an occasion to celebrate, I have no one to share it with.

The Big C is a lonely bastard. It’s lonely because others can’t relate. Those who can, have their own shit going on and no one ever wants to be a bother to someone else and finding the right equilibrium between needing help and being a pain in the ass can be a fine line.

- The Aftermath

There isn’t much more I can say. Something happened today that I thought would end my day differently.

My day ended with me in tears on the floor of my kitchen.

That’s not to say I didn’t have a ‘good’ day. I had a good meeting at work, things got resolved. But I was not ok after the fact.

I’m very good at putting on a brave face. After all, it seems like that is what we are trained to do. Putting on a brave face.

I’m not always standing. A lot of the times I am on the floor of my kitchen.

The event that occurred was a good one. Genuine, I am not sure, and that is what leaves me puzzled because I should be feeling better.

But here’s the thing, it’s not up to others to make you feel better. No matter what. That’s on you.

So when things don’t go as planned, who’s responsibility is it?

- The Aftermath

They (people, mostly therapists), say that the journaling can help with your feelings. Putting things down on paper can provide perspective.

Sometimes I just don’t have anything to say. Why must I have something to say?

We don’t alway want to be ‘in our feelings’. At times it just feels good to not have any. A blank mind in these circumstances, isn’t necessarily an idle mind. It’s a mind that needs a break. A mind that doesn’t wish to think about anything that has happened or is currently happening, because all we’ve done is think and think and think about doctor’s visits, upcoming tests, test results, why hasn’t the doctor called yet?, why have they called so soon?, why am I feeling like shit?, why can’t I remember what I ate for breakfast?, what was I supposed to be doing right now? The list goes on and on.

A simple ‘I’m ok’ can suffice and please accept that as enough.

— The Aftermath

We are inflames. Thrown into fights we didn’t choose. Some of us never win freedom. Some of us fight the same opponent over and over again for the rest of our lives.

The big “C” is still a word no one wants to say. People call it The Big C because saying cancer feels too real. Just say it. Cancer. There’s no need to flinch. But people do. Everyone does—except the doctors.

They say the word easily. Casually. We’re expected to learn how to live with it. Everyone else avoids it like saying it might make it contagious.

It’s a mind fuck. There’s no better way to say it. It’s a mind fuck for everyone involved, but especially for us.

If you’re confused by us or our, that’s me. That's someone who has cancer, has had cancer, and is left living with what comes after.

This is only my experience. I don’t speak for anyone else. I’ve had cancer twice, and there are things I need to say. Things people don’t like hearing.

Because the journey doesn’t end when they tell you you’re in remission.