Impending MRI Impending Life

I don't want to share this. I don't want to say it. I hate that I have to release, but the truth is that I can't handle my feelings. I have best friends, and I know that they would do anything for me. They know that I hurt, but they don't know my pain because I can't tell anyone, not even them. I've never told anyone how I badly I hurt. The pain of this, the diagnosis, the hamster wheel I live on. I give pieces to Dan, to my mom, to my dad, but if I gave any one person my whole sadness, it would be the meanest gift, and I refuse. Yet here I am, I can't stand it anymore. But it's a choice to read; close the window if it's too much.

I would rather cry alone, than burden my friends. I would rather hurt, and sob, by myself, because my friends have their own lives. No one's life is easy. It has taken me years to understand that, but I get it now. I'm a ghost that is here, but that doesn't live. People see me, or my hologram, but they don't know me. I just float.

I was meant to be a mother. I was meant to be a mom. What is my life without that? I found the most kind, handsome, generous, thoughtful, fantastic, man, but he always expected a family too. But now he worries about me. ME. He should have kids by now, he should have that beautiful love from his own children, that sticky snot filled, accidental wet bed, picky eating life, and I can't give that to him. And what is a life without children? Seriously, to those of you who read this, can you imagine your life without your kids? 

That is the life I live every day, that deep sadness. A life where I try to trick myself into happiness. "Hooray, I'm alive." And yes, of course, I should be happy that I'm alive, but what is this? I'm helping other people function in their own families. I'm helping mothers and fathers, born and unborn, and I have become this au pair for cancer patients, for cancer families, yet here I am, unable to have my own life. I hang on the edge of despair, worrying about my cancer friends, but I need to take care of myself and I hate that I can't compartmentalize. But I can't. So I just live sad. I live on anti-anxiety pills. I wonder how I'm even supposed to help because I'm nothing special, just a talker. I'm a not a specialist. I'm not a doctor. 

I've devoted myself so fully to help others, but I need to start focusing on what it means to be 35, without children, barely able to pay for our cancer treatments. I am an educated woman, with degrees, but I bought into what the doctors said about the fact that I would die immanently. So I've been in a mad dash to help others survive, but how am I going to live long term with my treatment responsibilities? I can't just take care of everyone else. And, how do I live my own life? And how do I make Danny's dreams come true? I feel so responsible. I feel overwhelmed. I feel sad. And I wonder what the point of this life is. I have watched others die for various reasons and its all confusing and messed up and it had nothing to do with working hard, or being a good person. I am not here right now because I'm somehow significantly better than anyone else on earth. 

So I just do my best. But what do you do when you know you can't give your husband children. That you've just isolated him. Danny should not be an old man without a family. Without children. Without that special, magical love. So yes, I am alive. I'm alive longer than I technically should have been, but, is this the life I would want for him? Never.

Here I am being grossly honest, and confused. What shall I do with my life? What will I be if not a mother? My heart breaks every day. I cry every day, whether its internal or literal. The worst thing is making others feel uncomfortable, so I try to hide it, dsguise my pain.

But it's the truth. And it hurts me to be real, but I will know in two weeks if my brain tumor is growing again or not, and sometimes I wonder, when I feel this despair, will it really matter? In the sliding door of life, what would be best for Dan?