Thursday, April 18, 2013

Doves Cry

I am angry.

I don't know if this is a passing thing, a "phase" as it were, or if this is my new state of being.

I have a small cold. I'm not certain how my low grade fever is effecting me.

I am angry.
I am angry there is no space for me.
I am angry there is no safe place for me to talk, to someone.
I am angry that Hospice has to be considered part of the "safety net".

I am angry at my friends, the people I love. I am angry and love them at the same time. It's a painful contradictory feeling.
I am angry at life. I am angry at the inherent unfairness. Of it all.

I am angry that every week I see more friends have birthdays that place them at or right next to my age.
I am angry that every week now someone new is engaged, married, or pregnant. In about 6 months I suppose I'll be angry at all the births around his death date.

I am angry at myself and society. I am angry that I will never be pregnant again. That I will never carry life, that my husband will never live on. That I have no more family with his death. He was my family unit, and now it is singular, and I'm angry that I had so little time with him.
I am angry at the milestones I have and will miss.

I am so angry at society for telling me I am worthless if I do not reproduce.

I am angry at society for telling me I am worthless for being poor. I am angry when people say it is my own fault, my own choices. I am angry when someone implies Wash wanted or asked for terminal brain cancer. 

I am angry at myself because I cannot be fully happy for my friends.
I am angry at comments about couples trying to get pregnant for under 6 months, and how upset/sad/frustrated they are. I am angry when those same people then immediately get pregnant.

I am angry that I have no one to talk to.

I am angry at my best friend for dying, for leaving me. I am angry at myself for that very thought. For not being happy he is not in pain, like he wished.

I am angry when I stare at his TARDIS urn every day and night and wonder if anyone else remembers him?

I am angry that he died before so many wonderful things.
I am angry he will never see the Doctor Who 50th Anni. special. Or be part of it in some way, which he would have; if he had not had the cancer and was still alive.

I am angry at being told I have to change so many things.
I am angry that so many things will change and have regardless.

I am angry that I can remember the last hug I had from him, that I remember it was the last.

I am angry that I have to live a future without him. I am angry that I wake up every morning, and he does not, will not.

I am angry and it feels like a hot weighted stone upon my heart.

I am angry that I feel so utterly useless.
I am angry how disposable I feel. I am angry at the daily implication that my existence is worthless- or worse, costing of others.

I am angry, and so sad.


  1. I'm so sorry Tashi. Your anger is valid. Your feelings are valid, and we are here to support you.

  2. Oh honey, this world sux for those who grieve; it keeps turning yet not for grief-stricken. Days last forever and tears burn their way out. All you feel is credible and cogent and strong. Holding you up to the Universal Healing Power amidst this ineffective medical system.

  3. Tashi as a fellow young cancer widow, if I can offer the slightest suggestion... Something that has helped me is getting off of facebook or fakebook as I like to call it.

    I am not "happy" but I am less triggered and stressed. It has filtered rubber neckers out of my life and made me focus on the more tangible.

  4. I am so, so sorry you're going through this.

    Each person's struggle is completely unique, but there is a tiny sliver of overlap in ours, so perhaps my experience could be useful to you in some way. Three years ago, while I was in treatment for cervical cancer, I lost my partner, the person most important to me in the world. I've always struggled seriously with depression (hospitalization and all), but the period that followed this time was far and away the worst I've ever experienced. I so resonate with the anger--there was a time when I just had to withdraw from everyone who cared about me because I couldn't cope with the level of my anger, nor could I share it with anyone. It's great you have the internet. I think it's much more healthy to express this all, even if you can't always do it in person!

    But there was something that helped me--and even though this period was the worst emotionally for me in my life, I didn't end up in the hospital again. It was totally counterintuitive, and almost a fluke: I had a job I worked for one hour four days a week. Even that seemed utterly impossible. I would wake up every morning absolutely certain I couldn't make it. I would be certain of this fact right up until I crossed the threshold of the door of my workplace. I would promise myself that I could come back home and get in bed right after I was finished, and at least 9 days out of 10, that is exactly what I'd do. But sometimes, on the 10th day, I'd actually stay up. And (excruciatingly) slowly, those staying up days started to win out. It took more than a year to see any change--I was certain it wouldn't happen at all. But it did.

    As a person with mental illness, I always had a special level of disdain for people who advocated "fake it till you make it". But for me there was something curative about having to show up somewhere and perform for an hour, even though I resented having to do it with every fiber in my body. Maybe something like this could work. (Some people think volunteering can serve this purpose, though I tend to think it's better if it's paid, even if minimally, so there is a greater sense of necessity to go when you're in really bad shape). Usually I spent the hour feeling like I was straight-up lying to everyone's face, but there were some days that I got in to my work and it actually seemed to offer some level of oblivion. And even that small slice of oblivion gave me some space to heal. It took ages, but it is possible.

    Sending you all best wishes.