That sounds less bitter in my head, but it's still true. I know what they're feeling; I've felt it myself. You hear about someone being diagnosed with cancer and you feel bad about it, but isn't there that moment of relief -- "If it's them, it's not me."? That's human nature.
It's also human nature to want to help, and people have been wonderful to me, but this has all gone on too long and everyone has to get back to their lives. "It really sucks that this has happened to you and Dave, but, really, what do you expect of us? We have offered our shoulders and told you to 'Hang in there.' What else is there? I mean, come on -- give us a break, goddammit!"
It's fine. It's gone on too long for us too. Dave fights on, for which I'm so very grateful, but we're tired and, quite frankly, I don't need to assuage other people's fears. Because our trauma is not resolved yet, you see. We won't go away and be healthy again. We will insist on dragging this out, remaining a constant reminder that this shit can happen to anyone at any time. I understand the fears, but I don't have the energy to be reassuring nor the power to make it all right.
Part of me wants to push people away to see if they come back. Most won't. I don't expect them to. People have busy lives and there's no reason they should be at my beck and bawl, but there's always a surprise -- there's always one you think you can count on and you find out -- you can't. But there's the flip side to that as well -- the surprise friend who is level-headed and constant, who offers you not a shoulder and a platitude but just what you didn't even know you needed.
I'm lucky enough to have many wonderful friends. Forgive me if I push you away for awhile. Please come back.
