I didn’t expect to outlive anyone, especially my mom.

Mom: Perfect grades, good girl who didn’t experiment with anything.

Me: Smoking, drugs, alcoholic tendencies some beginning just before middle school.

By fourteen when I had my accident, I stopped talking altogether to my mother.

Yet, now that I know the prognosis is fewer than two years before her cancer takes her over…I can’t seem to process.

I was crying at everything while waiting for the encroaching doom, thinking it was going to be ME who had come to my “time to go” avoiding tests too scared to know.

Now, after a summer of being sick, my mom is diagnosed and I cannot cry at all.

I want comfort for myself, but I can’t give a piece of myself to anyone else.

What the fuck is wrong with me that I’m incapable of affection, it’s not a simple as fear of rejection (except with my husband)…

No, denial. This year has been shit. I can’t even believe it!

Reality bites!

I promise, I thank the gods for music.