Getting dressed is always such a chore. I would much rather stay in my pajamas all day long and curl up and watch White Collar.

That’s what I’ve been doing all morning though and it’s now noon so actually getting out of my room is probably something I should look into.

I hate when people tell me I have to do something. As childish as it is, when someone tells me what to do, all it makes me want to do is the complete opposite. Really, it’s rather pathetic. I blame it on the fact that I never rebelled in high school. Not that I should have, I just don’t know what else to blame it on.

Someone I very much care about is having an intense surgery tomorrow. My mind won’t let me think about it too much.

I can recall the facts about the surgery. I can easily admit that I’m scared. But I can’t linger on what the surgery could mean. I can’t let myself get lost in the fear. My mind just about stops working altogether when I try to internally process it, which probably isn’t good. But I don’t know. Maybe my mind is protecting me.

In the book “Host” by Stephanie Myer, there is this ‘spirit’ (for lack of a better word) who is put inside of a human. Usually, when this would happen, as it was very commonplace in the book, the spirit would completely take over the human’s body and mind. In this case however, the human, for whatever reason, was very strong. The spirit had a very hard time controlling the human. The two could hear each other’s thoughts and often fought against one another. In most cases, when a spirit took over, they had full access to the humans memories. For this spirit though, the human was mentally strong enough to “put up a black wall” in front of the memories she didn’t want the spirit to know. The spirit would try to slam against it and break through it, would try to get around it, would try to trick the human into letting her pass. But no matter what she did, the spirit ended up just running into the wall over and over, not being able to access the part of the mind that she wanted to.

I don’t really know how to word it, but that’s what comes to my mind when I try to think about the surgery.

Actually, that’s also the kind of black wall that seems to pops up when I try to answer the question posed to me in the last blog: “so, what’s wrong with you?” I can think about all of the things that I don’t like about myself. I can list them out, even describe them in most cases. It’s a long list. There isn’t a single thing about me that doesn’t need to be improved upon.

But I can’t really think and mull over all of the things. My thoughts are shallow and just sort of spinning. And I know that there is more; I know there is something beyond the black wall. But I just keep running into it.

There is fear, and knowledge, that there is something actually wrong with me.

There is fear, on there other hand, that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. And, yes, I know that seems backward and, no, I don’t know why I feel that fear.

I do know why I fear the surgery. Because cancer is terrifying. There’s no way to ignore that. And somehow, my mind begs me to.

The black wall, up, to defend me against myself. Self preservation at its finest.



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