...
You know, it's sort of ironic that I made a "yay, I'm caught up" post about NaNoWriMo the same day I got news that completely derailed any desire I had to work on my novel. My desire to write hasn't gone away -- in fact, I'm throwing hundreds of words at everything but NaNoWriMo, because...ugh, I don't even fucking know. Because every time I start feeling good about something I have to sabotage myself, apparently.
I know I just have to ~put my mind to it~ or whatever. I'm just...not doing so hot right now, I guess, and it's because I'm stuck in that stupid waiting phase of grief, where I know what's coming and I can see what's happening but I can't properly grieve because we're not at the worst part yet. And I'm so angry, my god, I can't even breathe sometimes I'm so angry about this. That I have to make this choice, that I have to watch him get a little worse every day, that I can't explain to him that the meds are for his own good and that at some point, probably very soon, I'm going to have to actively choose to end his life. I don't want to make that choice. I really, really don't.
And I feel so aimless. Every day I wake up and think, "Please don't let today be the day," and then even though it's not there's still some little sign that he's inched farther downhill. He was on that plateau for so long that I deluded myself into thinking it would last, but at the end of the day he has terminal cancer in his head and he's dying and there's not a fucking thing I can do about it except make him comfortable and love on him until the day comes when I have to let him go.
Fuck, I'm sorry I keep talking about Ivan. He just keeps slowly but surely getting worse, and it's killing me.
I know I just have to ~put my mind to it~ or whatever. I'm just...not doing so hot right now, I guess, and it's because I'm stuck in that stupid waiting phase of grief, where I know what's coming and I can see what's happening but I can't properly grieve because we're not at the worst part yet. And I'm so angry, my god, I can't even breathe sometimes I'm so angry about this. That I have to make this choice, that I have to watch him get a little worse every day, that I can't explain to him that the meds are for his own good and that at some point, probably very soon, I'm going to have to actively choose to end his life. I don't want to make that choice. I really, really don't.
And I feel so aimless. Every day I wake up and think, "Please don't let today be the day," and then even though it's not there's still some little sign that he's inched farther downhill. He was on that plateau for so long that I deluded myself into thinking it would last, but at the end of the day he has terminal cancer in his head and he's dying and there's not a fucking thing I can do about it except make him comfortable and love on him until the day comes when I have to let him go.
Fuck, I'm sorry I keep talking about Ivan. He just keeps slowly but surely getting worse, and it's killing me.