American anarchist Elbert Hubbard said that when life gives you lemons, you start a lemonade stand. Atmosphere says that when life gives you lemons, you paint that shit gold. And what do I say?

As of late, life has given me a lot of lemons. And not the, “Thank goodness I will be saved from scurvy!!” kind of lemons. It’s more like the “I think I’ll hide under the covers and wait to wake up from this consistent and all-too-realistic bad dream” kind of lemons. 2014 has been a rollercoaster, a boxing match, a twist of bad fate, and any other euphemism for a really hard time.

In brief: my 28-year-old sister was diagnosed with breast cancer. Google tells me that less than 5% of breast cancer patients are under the age of 40. She’s always been an overachiever. Less than a week before her first scheduled chemotherapy appointment, my ailing grandmother passed away. It was peaceful (mid-ice cream session, if we’re being honest) but she was my last living grandparent, and the matriarch of my family. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. And amidst the breadth of emotions I have felt, (including, but not limited to: frustration, fear, anger, remorse, depression, denial, and heartache) I’m ready to say what a lot of people facing hardships are too PC to even think: fuck lemonade, I need a drink.

Or a Xanax. I need one minute to breakdown, to drink, to cry, to withhold. I’m giving myself one minute to curse and feel hopeless. And then I’m going to breathe. I’m going to stand up and be a rock for the hurting people in my life. Because, really, what else can I do? Though hiding sounds like an appealing alternative, I know that will not offer me peace of mind or healing. With the help of my strong support system, I will cope, recover, and go back to being the silly, positive, and lighthearted person that everyone needs me to be right now. I think that it often takes a trying experience (or in my case, host of trying experiences) to know what you’re made of. I’m stronger than I think I am. And now I need to prove it.