The Part Nobody Talks About
I'm so angry that the world kept going
while I stood still.
I was forced to live within these four walls
for more than a year,
watching life continue
while I was fighting to stay here.
No one gets the frustration
that cancer can bring.
No one understands
how much it can change everything.
The treatment is over,
but this is not the end.
Somehow,
it just got even harder
after the finish line again.
At least before,
I had some direction.
Some kind of plan.
Some piece of mind.
I knew what was coming.
I knew what I had to do.
Now I'm grasping for straws,
trying to figure out what is true.
I don't know who I am.
I question everything I do.
Every choice.
Every road.
Every new direction
I try to move toward.
And the silence...
The silence can be deafening.
Everyone has left.
Everyone is so happy
that “I am better.”
I guess.
But what does better even mean?
Because I don't feel like
the person they think they see.
My favorites aren't my favorites anymore.
The things I loved
don't always feel the same.
And sometimes I wonder
if the people I love
look at me differently too.
Because I'm not who I was.
And it's not my fault.
It's not my fault I changed.
I was poisoned to death
so I could survive.
Think about that.
How ironic is that?
I had to be poisoned
to save my life.
And now I'm expected
to simply go back to living
like nothing happened.
But something did happen.
Everything happened.
My body remembers.
My mind remembers.
And somewhere inside me,
I am still trying to understand
how I can be grateful to be alive
and angry about what it took
to keep me alive.
Maybe both can be true.
Maybe I can be thankful
and still be angry.
Maybe I can love my life
and still mourn the life
I had before.
Maybe surviving doesn't mean
I have to pretend I'm okay.
Maybe “better”
doesn't mean “back to normal.”
Because I don't know
what normal is anymore.
I only know
that I crossed the finish line...
And somehow,
the hardest part
was waiting for me on the other side.
