In which I live to be twenty-two

So, yesterday was my birthday. I spent the morning in the hospital talking to Dr. Galfand, which was not really my preferred way to spend my birthday. He did actually want to keep me a bit and start another round of Chemo but Mom told him no. Which was awesome enough, but then I found out she had told him this because she had tickets to Les Miserables and I seemed well enough to go.

Best. Mom. Ever.

I'm going back to the hospital this evening, but I'm ok with that. Yesterday was awesome. The musical was great and mom took me to a fancy resturaunt and I didn't feel totally nausuous afterwards.

And it snowed.  Which I don't usually like, but it was kind of pretty.

I was actually going to use this time to contemplate my own mortality and think about what I've been through and that I never actually thought that I would live this long. But yesterday was too awesome for me to write a post like that. The world is good sometimes.

In which I come home

So, I'm back in DC now. Yeah, it wasn't a very long trip. Really I was just there for the wedding. Which was nice, by the way. It took place in my uncle's living room, everyone wore t-shirts, and one of their friends were the officiator. I don't know why, but for some reason this ceremony was more touching then a lot of weddings that I've been to that were held in a huge church. Funny how that works.

So, I made it home ok. Although I hit myself with my own luggage again. That's becoming a bad habit. It was a bit worse this time though, since I am sort of a porcelain doll at the moment. I have a huge bruise where I hit myself. I've also got a few bruises just from people bumping into me and stuff. Mom almost didn't want me to go, or at the very least not alone. But this meant a lot to Dad. And while we never had a very close relationship, this was important enough to do.

Plus, at this point I'll never know if it's going to be the last time I see him.

So I'm trying to get back into routine again. I see Dr. Forrester tomorrow. Dr. Putnam the next day. Dr. Galfand the next. And I think Dr. Galfand's gonna try and get me to stay in the hospital again. So I don't know when I'll be able to post again. We'll see.

In which I still can't update regularly

So, how long has it been? A couple months I think. I don't really know. I try to pay attention to that kind of stuff, but how long it's been since I wrote on a blog doesn't always seem that important nowadays.

Dr. Forrester says that the blog is actually a good idea. Since I've never been a diary person, and I sometimes feel really awkward talking to her. Dr. Forrester is my therapist. She's not actually a doctor. She went through a special school just for counseling and social work, so she can do this but there is no degree to it. I just call her Dr. Forrester for the mystery science theater reference.

She's really nice. I like her a lot and she has a really scary knack of figuring out where I'm coming from despite the fact that I've never said anything about it. At the same time, I don't think she can do me much good. She thinks I'm seeing her because of PTSD from my hostage situation encounter. Which is true. Kinda.

It's hard to work through issues when you can't tell someone what they are.

So, the blog was going to be my writing haven/therapy journal/whatever the fuck I needed. But I forgot. Because I do that. I did that before all of this. And now, whole chunks of time run through my fingers. It's hard enough to keep track of important things, let alone stuff like ranting to the internet.

I only really remembered because I am hanging out in my home town right now. My dad is getting married, and he wanted me there for the ceremony. I said yes of course, so now I'm at my dad's house, bored and waiting for him to get married tomorrow.

And the weird thing is, the last time I was here was when I started my first blog. Everything's going into a weird circle. Which is unnerving. And at the same time, nice.

Maybe while I'm here I can take back some normality. Or go walk down the parkway. Or something. Anything. Right now, I'm just dying, slow but faster than most people. It wears on me a bit. More than the nightmares I still have or the moments where I could almost swear I'm tied to a chair in that basement again. More than the silence I both fear and crave.

The worst part is the waiting.