I beat my fists against the walls of my world, but it is futile. They continue to close in on me as the lines between by brows deepen and my clenched jaw aches.

I am trapped. Trapped in this city, this medical system, this illness, this mind.

I am furious. I am beaten. I am frustrated.

And I am lonely. 

As my world shrinks and my anger flares, I isolate myself further. Encouraging the natural isolation borne of prolonged illness, as the offers of assistance and cheer dry up and life moves on for everyone else. Soon they will forget all about me. Yet I am trapped here in my illness and in my mind and in my frustration. Stasis.

I engage in new activities and I make new acquaintances, but it is fraught with worry as I question how to proceed. Do I confess to my illness? And if so, when? I relish the anonymity, relationships unencumbered by pity or awkwardness. But I panic about what withholding this information will do. And I fret about what admitting it would do.

And the jealousy burns. It sits like a wound in my jaw and tightens me. It helps no one but it clings to me, unwanted.

I have watched as others have travelled, been promoted, fallen in love, moved, danced, swum and run, fallen out of love, hiked, explored and had adventures.

I have watched as they moved around the world with health and joy and the ignorance of not having to face their own mortality too soon.

And I resent them.

My nostrils contract, my brow becomes a mess of lines and my throat constrains. 

Stasis. No, not stasis. I’ve actively deteriorated. 

I am bound by my illness. I have been ugly and am still unhealthy and disfigured, my body and my mind have been weakened, I know not if it’s irreversible. My innocence has been taken. And I am jealous.

I hate who I am for my jealousy, my bitterness, my poison. I wish no ill will, but I ache for the person I was before this cruel disease ravaged me.

I need to escape. This city, this illness, me.

It is coming. I pray that change will release me of this poison.

Distance swum since last post: 5.1km
Distance swum to date: 18.3km
Distance to go: 181.7km

6 thoughts on “Fury

  1. Life was not meant to be easy, my child; but with courage and with time it can still be delightful. You do have courage, you do have time, this time is passing even though at the moment it drags down your spirit and your joy shines though to me and my friends. We see the beginning of the sunshine coming through you. Keep swimming, walking, dancing, talking and touching onto all those other things that come your way.
    Turkey is just a few steps away, then your home, and Uluru, Jenni and Beachport. In time the flower opens again and is wiser as life flows along. That is life…..steps and steps abs steps……FaceTime whenever you need to.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Papa, you are so full of wisdom it makes me weep. The sunshine is coming back, about time, it was a long, dark winter and no one needs those!


  2. I feel you. ❤️ I know those feelings oh so we’ll. This will pass and one day you will be a stronger, happier, more vibrant version of yourself. Hugs. I’m jealous that you can swim actually. I’m getting ready to have my 6th leg surgery in 20 years from my bone cancer and am so looking forward to water therapy and then swimming! It’s the only exercise I can do aerobically. I’d love to hang out with you and swim 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh my god Heather that would be amazing. Where do you live?

      I hope your surgery went well, and you have swift recovery. If you do freestyle/front crawl you’ll be winning, I kept being told not to kick!


  3. Hi Jessica,
    Firstly you should know that you’ve been through more than any one at our age should experience. On top of the fact that you’re a poster of achievement! I would’ve crumbled – no doubt and turned out a bitter potato.
    Your journey has put things in perspective, but this has been a tough week. I lost an Aunt about 3 months after her initial colon cancer diagnoIs @ an age of 61 and then a few days later another unexpected death (mostly age related). I know we should all be grateful for our blessings, but this week I want to ask why? And throw a dart at those happy bunnies.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’ve been a pretty bitter potato – just ask my family…

      I’m sorry about the deaths around you. Hate the happy bunnies…unless I’m being one! Find some sunshine xx


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