Crossing Lines: writing eases the loneliness of disease

It’s time to take it up a notch here on the Cancerbus. I’m now four solid years into blogging and my fifth cancerversary since my metastatic breast cancer diagnosis in March, 2015. Naturally for my personality in order to write this blog with more rigor, I’ve turned to educating myself.

One educational direction is through other people’s personal essays. I’m also reading up on how to touch more people through engaging with the cancer and poetry community. As a result, I’m commenting more often other blogs I read. It’s a risk to be certain, and as such, I step on my proverbial tongue at times.

When I write up a post, my somewhat warped sense of humor percolates up, and any self importance sinks down in the word stream. It’s the part of the art, the crafting of the essay about a weighty topic as cancer is, to create a tone that’s conversational feels right to me. The tone of my blog probably appeals to some and not to others because of the no-bullshit, non-pinkified, lack of “let’s all sing Kumbaya .”

It’s authentic and it’s my story without flowery effluvium, little self pity, and I hope no need for sympathy. Words either flow or they don’t. Blogging isn’t easy. Responsible for my truth, it’s also not for the purpose of emotionally abusing my readers. If it’s purple and persimmon pretty sunsets you want, you arrived at the wrong web address.

Perhaps too late and impervious to the needs of other bloggers I’ve committed a faux pas or two by commenting much in my same voice. To write otherwise would feel disingenuous. The endangered species of the personal narrative co-exists awash a sea of me-too.

Comments bubble up from the dark waters of “atta girl” and “you got this” and “how beautiful (sad, unfortunate, wonderful) your situation.” The depth of commentary reveals the time a reader takes to try and comprehend even my more lachrymose posts without turning away. My goal never included becoming the most popular or beloved. Instead my decision seemed right to me: to cobble together the rough stones down in a path to the truth of grief, death, side effects, the pain and it’s remedies, loss of love, family and friends, arising from a disease and it’s discontents.

Sometimes it’s a very difficult path to lay. Even the photos can become hard to look at but harder to turn from looking away as in my post: Bone Deep: the painful reality of metastatic cancer.

Context for content(ment)

Recently after commenting on that post, of which no background for what despair this person had come to at the end of their treatment options. I felt near obligation given the missing history of the persons metastatic cancer and what treatments they’d previously endured. My heart sank as I felt them giving up hope. I could only empathize with the information written with no kind of link to a previous post of their journey. Generally I shy away from using the word “journey” in relation to MBC, the word most used by kinder, gentler blog writers.

My contextualization of metastatic disease co-mingles help in two ways:

  1. Plain, black and white discussions of all the experiences from the ugliest fleur du mal to the most heart felt and touching so there can be a personal connection between us – you and I, subject and object, reader and writer. Whether or not the reader had or has cancer should not matter, since it’s the experience of the human condition in which I strive to participate not only of terminal illness.

  2. Easing the loneliness among my sisters and brothers with metastatic cancer has always been the goal of starting the cancerbus.com. It may not help all readers. However given some of your encouraging commentary, your words fuel my desire to continue week after week.

Alone or lonely?

There’s a peace in solitude yet an anguish in loneliness. I suppose the imposition of solitude with cancer feels the loneliest of all. At that very moment you need all the support you can find, you find yourself isolated even in large crowds. No one can understand whose life is without disease. Dis-ease. Taken apart the word disease explains exactly what causes our loneliness. It’s not being at ease in our own bodies turned against the souls who resided within.

This is why I write, to ease the loneliness of metastatic cancer. To find kindred spirits out in the ether. And so that said, if I happen to meet you through your words probably written for much the same reason, please take my comments as they’re meant. A way to reach you in your writer’s space from one mind to another and sketch you a hug in the way that I’m lucky enough to find comes easy to me.

I’ll write you a love song to celebrate our lives, together yet apart. We have more than disease in common. We love life and want to hang on as long as possible, with those like ourselves who have death beating down our doors. Perhaps with more strength of numbers it can’t get through quite as fast, since loneliness creates a weaker immunity and allows our disease to win over our minds and not just our bodies.