What’s it like to live life on the edge of memes?

I suffer from anxiety and depression that makes my insides recoil in the face of ruminating thought, which is where I get trapped because I am trapped.

I keep these little gifts and gifs because, when I know that someone understands, my stomach settles, and I can go on with my day and make it bright with sunbeam smiles.

Having had colorectal cancer and resection has left my insides like this — roiling and sick that manufactured drama becomes my drama and that it is beyond my control — nauseas, dry heaves for days.

It has become debilitating like this.

I’m not the same woman I once was who could hold abuse inside and carry on with my life as if the abuse not there.

I’m not the same woman, thankfully. The woman I was buried things deep so no one spun with me when poisoned plates were force fed.

So many people asked why they didn’t know. For them, I say, imagine speaking softly the terrible things being done to your family and watching the world drive by because there’s not much anyone can do. I drive by this way because there is nothing more I can do than actions I am already taking.

Thank you for sharing the things that we unknowingly share because my egg basket eases when my hand is held by a quote or a sentiment that screams “we are not alone” and “we are human in worlds not always humane.”

I’m not sad or mad or in a feeling. I’m dealing with reality while simultaneously praying for better days as I make better days.