...emotions...

I have come to see my writings as a form of therapy. I am one who realizes I feel strongly, deeply and perhaps too much. And yet the depth to which I feel seems part and parcel to being me. Maybe better stated, being me is too much for me, for I feel on an island alone. Maybe knowing we are each on an island alone, highly likely to depart the planet alone, is key to getting through the last chapters of one's life?

I struggle too much. And I wear my heart on my sleeve, knowing that leaves me vulnerably me. I have tried to change those things about myself that I feel do not serve me well, and in some cases, I have made considerable headway on the path of change. But in other ways, such as feeling so deeply, I seem hindered in ability to change.

I face the biggest heaping platter of problems to resolve or learn to overlook as has ever been in my life. That itself is a huge truth to state. And in some ways I am stronger, more able, more maturely grounded to push aside that which I have no control over, at least for a period of time. But in that other hard-to-accept way, I am so rawly vulnerable...so in need of external strokes since getting done with cancer treatment last year. And when I feel needy, I know not how to handle that properly. It seems as though when I most need to feel connected and loved, I do or say something wrong and push away what I want most. It is not at all intentional. I feel I am relating my truths, and I feel too deeply and say things wrong and when I most need to have others support, I seem to be without.

I share this, rawly, from a place of feeling on an island...realizing so very much and doing my best to accomplish what I can to advance toward reaching some goals. And even my goals are now in question.

I am afraid right now to talk about my CA-125 level rising more and my concerns. I want to be that brave person who boldly pushes past, despite the odds, despite this, despite that...and on a given day I may not be that brave any more. I feel stuck.

I have outside gardening type work I am completing to help my property look it's best. I have so much work ahead, on both coasts, that it feels daunting. I do the one step at a time boogie, but still get sidetracked into overwhelm from time to time. I realize that sharing problems is unattractive and not fun and am modifying how it is I even attempt to cope.

I wonder: will I get it right this lifetime? I know my shortcomings and have self-love nonetheless. I value my honesty, but know it to get in the way of the types of relationships I want and value most.

I, I, I. Why do I bother like this? What do my writings accomplish? I think I clarify for myself what I am feeling and why and then it is a form of release...but do my needs, my honest to goodness needs get better met for putting my story out there? Not really.

Perhaps I am coming to terms, slowly, with what it means to realize more about the journey of life and the myths with which we are raised and the desire to make them reality and...how I just don't seem to be the alchemist that can pull that off. It is the equivalent of losing my middle name and surrendering to what will be.

I'm about to take another leap of faith and begin Vitamin C infusions with the goal of lowering the CA-125 and not having to get back into chemotherapy as appears to be the trajectory my life is on...I shall post about outcomes because I am in a research group of sorts. Monies are not being put into research because pharmaceutical interests cannot profit from ascorbate, and yet some promising studies have come from the one research facility that is getting some funding in Kansas. As I charge and borrow my way through treatment, I would at least like to know that my one person sample can be public knowledge and maybe help someone else...down the line with a tough decision of his or her own.