maybe it's an allergy .. maybe it's cancer.

I feel like such a hot mess right now. I haven't showered in days, I have been eating mostly junk, the dishes are piling up, my death wish has resurfaced, I still have no health insurance, I have no income, it's 1:30a.m., and I can't sleep.

***
I wrote the above entry a few days ago. I have since showered, done the dishes, and cooked a good meal or two. But, I am going to bed even later now and I still have no health insurance. Also, my death-wish is still lurking around, which I noticed by the fact that I am sort of excited by the potential prospect of breast cancer. I need therapy. Seriously. ... Alas, I have no health insurance and still no income and so - no therapy for me.

The breast cancer fear has appeared because I have been having an itchy areola and, despite the fact that I am very aware no good comes from researching your physical ailment symptoms online, I googled "itchy areola" and the reasons for this range from a simple bra allergy to Paget's disease, which is a rare type of breast cancer. So instead of splurging on a doctor's appointment, I decided to call all my girlfriends and ask them about the look and feel of their areolas. One of my friends decided to take me on a google images journey of breasts, which taught me more about other women's bosoms than I ever wanted to know. Some images where quite disturbing. Also, why would one ever pierce their nipple? That seems entirely too risky, but also, doesn't that awkwardly show through your shirt? I already don't like it when my nipples peek through my shirt, which they always do because I am always cold, which is why I switched to padded bras, which apparently are giving me a skin allergy ... or let's say are hopefully giving me an allergy ... cuz if they are not, then it might be the other sh--.

Anyway, so ... yes ... I am worried about the big C (oh, btw .. I love that show) .. however, I have to admit a moment of excitement that the end may be in sight. Clearly, my journey of grief hasn't reached a point of real acceptance, yet. I'm assuming, I will stop secretly wanting to die once I am in a phase of real recovery.

Of course, I can't die. I really shouldn't be wishing for that. I feel guilty wishing for it and out loud I say "I really don't want to die", as if my spoken words can undo my inner desire. But, really ... I cannot die. I must not die. My children would be forever marked and I may potentially ruin my older daughter's life. She is the most sensitive person I know. Everything worries and scares her, change is really hard to process, and she regularly asks to speak to "a professional". She just turned 12.
The other day, my neighbor came over to grab a plate of food I had offered. He has been stopping over a few times in the past few weeks. After he left, she asked: "So, Mom ... do you like Henry?" -- I was taken by surprise and said "What do you mean? Of course, I like him. He is a very nice person." -- "I mean, .. do you like him, like him" she responded. -- "What? Why are you asking me this kind of question? Aren't you a little young to be asking such a question?" -- "I'm just saying. ... It's _been_ a year." I was speechless. Yes, on March 5th I will be faced with the anniversary of J's death. I hate the word anniversary for this purpose. Anniversary has a happy connotation. This is shit.

My older daughter, Ava (I can't remember what alias name I have given her on this blog) has always been spewing words of wisdom out of nowhere.
When she was a toddler (well.. around 4 or so) she told me that when she is having a tantrum she really just wants me to talk to her. When she was six years old she and my younger daughter, Lucie (can't remember what nickname I gave her here either), witnessed how I stubbed my toe ("witnessed" me stubbing my toe?..tsk tsk.. I seriously need to expand my vocabulary). As I hissed in pain, Lucie asked whether this was the worst pain I have ever had and if I was going to cry. I told her that I wasn't going to cry, that I hardly ever cried, and that I didn't even cry when I gave birth, which is probably the worst pain in the world. "No, .. I think, the worst pain in the world is if you lose someone you love," is what Ava responded to that. Six years old! What does she know about true pain? But, I can tell you one thing ... she was right. Having lost J is worse than birth or anything painful I have ever experienced. .. I guess, only to be topped by severe medical or physical-torture induced suffering.