“There is one purpose to life and one only: to bear witness to and understand as much as possible of the complexity of the world – its beauty, its mysteries, its riddles.” – Anne Rice, Servant of the Bones
8 July 2018
My voice returned, far before my standing record of three months, but my thoughts remain scattered. Symptoms come and go. The pain is by now an old and much-loathed companion who, like time, walks by my side, conscious of eternity and patient to a degree I myself have never been. I have an appointment in three days that will either grant my wish and send me for urgent further testing, or I will be disappointed again. I’ve decided to fast for a while for clarity. If you do it long enough, a light, floaty feeling comes, at least for me, and that sounds nice right now.
My father is doing well in rehab, attended at almost all times by my mother. It’s her way, devoting all her attention to one person and ignoring the pain of others. My mother has never known how to deal with me, and generally leaves that up to my dad. With him not here, we’re not talking much, and I’m sure she won’t notice the fasting. No one ever does. Years ago, I spent three months eating only a mouthful or so of something every four days. It took that three months for my dad to notice and implore me to stop. My mother, if she notices, will just get angry and storm out, avoid the pain by avoiding me. If I get what I’ve been asking my god for, she will probably be angrier than I’ve ever seen her. But nothing she says or does will be able to hurt me in a way that lasts.
In the same way I used to help my body heal by placing my hands over a part and imagining blue light, I’ve begun to do so on my stomach while thinking “ovarian cancer.” I imagine my insides turning black with disease, my immunosuppressed system unable to work the way it used to. I know I want this disease. I’m not sure yet if I will fight it or not. I would be sure, if not for the guilt. Mainly I feel bad for the family I’d leave behind, but there’s also the Pagan in me scolding me for throwing something living away. Today I thought of a favorite word I’d not remembered for quite a while, altashheth. It’s Hebrew, I learned it from an Anne Rice novel, and it means “Do not destroy.”
Do not destroy. Do no harm. I’ve always thought this idea could sort of sum up how to live life. The Pagan Rede, too, says, “As ye harm none, do what ye will.” Who decides what is harm, though? For me, dying would be healing to my soul. My family would not think this way, or at least not enough to be willing to let me go.
16 July 2018
Well…I’ve had to change my plans. I visited my gynecologist a few days ago, told her all my symptoms, and instead of what I wanted, her saying it’s probably ovarian cancer (because that’s what EVERY FUCKING SYMPTOM SAYS), she freaked out that it might be complications from my gastric bypass several years ago. She forced me to go to the emergency room, and if nothing else, the fright brought my mom and I back to being friendly. She sat with me and was kind for the many hours I was in the ER, through a bunch of tests. The result? “Well, we can’t find anything wrong, but we want to keep you overnight and then stick a camera – “ No. NOOOOOO NOOOOO NOOOOO. No. I checked myself out against medical advice.
During those hours, watching my mother doze in the chair beside my bed, I imagined a voice in my head saying, “Are you sure this is what you want? To die?” And I kept saying, “Yes. I’m sorry, but yes.” And…maybe I imagined all the symptoms, or brought them on psychosomatically.
So, where am I now? Well, thinking about maybe living. I’m still hoping the disease is in me, that it will progress and be discovered later, but I’m also about to schedule a life reading/consultation from an Akashic Records reader I’ve heard good things about. I want to see what she sees for me. Then I will decide. Life or death. Wrong for me or wrong for my family. Going home sooner or later. Resigned to pain, or gifted with a long goodbye before finding myself again a good soul, free of Earth-agony, determined to do no wrong. Maybe only in a perfect place, a heaven, could I live as I want to, doing harm to nothing.
The word is muddied by the world, but it’s imprinted on my soul, my better half. Altashheth.
My Longing Shall Gather 