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I saw my counsellor today. It was extremely cathartic.  And I realised that I find it easier to speak the truth to a stranger than to my loved ones, easier to type it into my blog than to say it face to face.

I’ve not been feeling great since my Big Chemo day last week. The physical exhaustion has created a form of emotional exhaustion.  I’ve spent quite a bit of time over the last few days wondering why I’m putting myself through this treatment, whether it’s all worth it. Why am I doing this, when I may very well die from the disease in any event? Why invest so much in fighting to stay with my family, when the treatment means I don’t have the energy to be with my family? I think that most of this wondering has been done subconsciously as I’ve not been dwelling on it greatly in my conscious mind. But today it all came tumbling out.

I don’t think I realised quite how down I had been feeling until I started talking about it – and then the floodgates opened.  I’m sure it is a result of feeling physically battered by the treatment rather than anything else.  I spoke about how I have been feeling but how I don’t find it easy to share it because I need to be strong, I need to not let my loved ones be sad, I need to support them. And as usual, I was given a gift by my wonderful, wonderful counsellor. She told me to let others support me. She told me to look after them by letting them look after me. She told me that I don’t have to set myself such high standards the whole time. I am allowed to be sad and fed up and to let it show. I’m allowed to think it’s all rubbish – because it is.  It’s ok to show my true feelings because it doesn’t matter if it makes people sad.  I am a strong person but that doesn’t mean I have to be strong all of the time.  If letting it out makes me feel better, helps me regain my positivity, then that is good.

So here is the truth.  The truth is that I’m shattered, physically and mentally.  The truth is that I’m tired of trying to be strong all the time.  The truth is that my choices are between dying and living as a patient – not living as me. The truth is that this sucks. The truth is that whilst I love my family and friends and my job, I don’t love my life at the moment.  The truth is that I feel strong and positive a lot of the time, but weak and sad some of the time. The truth is that fighting Genghis is the hardest thing I have ever done – and it’s certainly not a battle I would have chosen.

So please don’t tell me I’m brave or strong or inspirational or amazing.  Because the truth is that those words make it harder for me to be truthful about how I’m feeling.  They set a standard that I feel that I have to live up to.  And the truth is, it’s hard enough to live at the moment without that standard.  This is hard. This is horrid.  That’s the truth.