10 thoughts I have on the days when I can’t stop thinking about how I should be dead.

If there is a “step process” on how to deal with survivor’s guilt, I am best described as “trying to climb the Endless Stairs in Super Mario 64 with less than 70 Power Stars.” Being diagnosed with cancer at 23 years old with a 4% chance of survival forces a person to develop an intimate relationship with their own mortality; something most of people never have to do until they’re already too old to care whether or not Death is picking up the bill on the first date.
Thought One: My parents have only visited me in my new city five times. Four times for cancer. One time for fun. They’ll never say it out loud, but I think the drive from Chicago to Cleveland gives them PTSD. Driving for six hours with a sense of dread isn’t a feeling you can shake off. Doing it four times cements that feeling into permanence. Whenever I make the drive back home for Thanksgiving, I find myself growing more and more excited when the “Colt Cabana” billboards start popping up, a sure-fire sign that I’m almost home. I can’t help but think my parents see those billboards as a reminder that they’re going to see their daughter in six hours, and they’re not sure if she’s going to be alive when they get there. On those days, guilt drops onto me like a wrestler from the top rope.
Thought Two: I’m really glad I don’t have a pet because if I died, no one would have been able to explain that to them. And then I’d have a pet thinking they weren’t loved because their owner never came back. And I couldn’t live with that guilt. Well, I’d be dead. So I guess I wouldn’t have to.
Thought Three: I had to file a living will before I could legally rent a car. My movie collection is the only thing I had worth passing down. I should probably invest in something.
Thought Four: My mom told a priest to “fuck off and preach to someone who cares” when I was screaming like I needed an exorcism when my pain meds wore off and he happened to be in my wing. This is still not as cool as when she told the Santa Claus at Macy’s to fuck off in front of a crowded line of children.
Thought Five: My best friend’s favorite movie is JAWS. She has a tattoo on her thigh of the iconic poster art in a Sailor Jerry style frame with a banner reading “here’s to swimmin’ with bow-legged women” nestling the artwork. It was always my favorite tattoo over her illustrated skin. But some days, I think about her ink and can’t help but wonder why JAWS was playing on television when I woke up from my first cancer surgery and why JAWS II was playing six months later when they realized my body was rejecting treatment. What does that mean? What is the universe trying to tell me? On those days, I hope she doesn’t post photos of her in short dresses on Instagram.
Thought Six: The kink in my neck I get whenever the pain from my surgery site irritates the nerve ending that runs up my shoulder looks a lot like Dr. Hutchison from ROCKO’S MODERN LIFE. That’s a weird side effect.
Thought Seven: I swear I can taste the radiation when I’m too close to the microwave.
Thought Eight: I’m glad I’m alive if only because there’s no way in fucking hell the funeral home would have gotten my eyebrows right. 1940’s style without any hair to use as a guide took me a long time to perfect. I don’t need amateur hour touching my face.
Thought Nine: My boyfriend’s favorite flavor is artificial banana. The way banana ice cream or banana Hostess Snacks never taste quite like they’re supposed to has always been his biggest vice. I brought him a peanut butter, chocolate, and banana smoothie the other day…and threw it out before I got home. I couldn’t help but remember those were the only things he consumed while I was bed ridden. They were quick to make, loaded with protein, and one of the few things that didn’t taste like hospital food. On that day, I was afraid that I’d ruined his favorite flavor, and that the taste of joy is forever spoiled with the taste of sickness.
Thought Ten: Statistically, medically, and realistically…everything says my existence is a mistake. But I was never good at making the right decision. I guess for once, it worked in my favor.
