I don’t think I will ever understand elderly people until I am one myself.
This is the height of optimism coming from a person with Cancer, since the “I’m going to beat this” spirit give way to malaise, then apathy, and sadness, then back to apathy.
That might have more to do with my other issues going on, but it’s hard to keep things moving slowly in the right direction when this comes across your path. It’s also harder to tell if people are really just with you because there is a level of pity tainting everything, and you feel completely and utterly alone.
But like I always have been, since the day I was brought into this world, I am the loneliest person in a crowded room. I am the observer. The classic only child that shows her extroversion by being nice, only to hope everyone will just go away so I can watch Game of Thrones in peace. It’s not any different at family gatherings.
I’m not sure how things go on in other people’s heads. To some it must be the elephant in the room to see a vibrant thirty two year old walking into the house with a full head of hair and smiling eyes despite the tears that fell only moments before and not silently say to themselves; “don’t talk about the cancer.” I get it. It’s a holiday, don’t talk about it. Don’t ask how I’m feeling, or anything. Keep asking me about my pseudo relationship because you can’t fathom why I’m single (hi, I know why I am, but that’s another blog post…, which I will probably title something ridiculous like
no one wants to date baldylocks
Cancer, the big purple elephant with tattoos in the room is hiding in a corner, at least when it comes to talking about my cancer. Anyone else’s cancer, well that’s polite after dinner holiday conversation, especially when you’re past your 80th year, and everyone you know is gone from something.
Yes! Lets talk about cancer and people dying of it when there is a woman who has barely lived sitting there with a fresh diagnosis. Let’s discuss the chemo and radiation, the hospital visits…let’s speak about their fight so cavalierly, then sip your coffee and finish your Easter chocolates. With your full mouth you can smack out the words
it was so sad when he died.
Oh, and for good measure, how about you talk about babies?? Everyone’s babies!! Lets just remind said girl with the tattooed purple cancer elephant on her shoulders, who was told at 19 she wouldn’t have kids because of PCOS and now doesn’t know what will happen to her fertility after this about babies!!!!! brilliant!!
I have never wanted to punch elderly people before until today, much less family, or family friends. I’ve never been the dramatic person to kick my chair away from the dinner table so hard it made noise and bolted from the room. I’ve never cried my eyes out in someone else’s bathroom. I’m not that girl. No, the lonely observer watches and records life to play back in different scenarios in her novels. She is not part of the action.
I don’t know if I can be this person. This person that now cries at the drop of a hat and can’t see past it yet. I don’t want to be the girl yelling at her adopted grandparents because it hurts do much.
I already miss being me, and I don’t even feel bad. I don’t look bad. No one would even know, if I didn’t tell them.
Maybe I can blame this all on their dementia, even when there isn’t any there. Maybe I can just do this and not be so sensitive to everything I forget I am the girl who doesn’t take shit from anyone. Maybe….
Who am I kidding? If this happens again, I’m closing a fist.