Dec. 26, 1983… Although it was not easy to attain, I remember feeling once that I had my life by the reins. I could do anything, because I felt I had control of myself. If I failed at one thing, no matter. . . I could do something else and succeed. Now I feel trampled beneath that stallion of life whose reins I so confidently held; I have no control. Even my emotions, which before I prided myself in keeping so carefully concealed, crash from my grip. Jon, too, is no longer in my grasp. He has grown more confident and self-assured, and I like what I see… but I feel as if he's no longer in my league… as if I'm trying to love a diamond when I know full well that I can afford only glass. It's never easy to lose status. I've lost so much that only a miracle of nature could allow me to recover my low self-worth. Jon deserves so much, and he has "the right stuff."
I feel so much better seeing him at home. I look as good as I can hope to look because I am able to get the rest I need. I felt like a shadow of myself in San Jose. . . a wound-up toy that kept walking even after the tension wore down.
Dec. 29, 1983… It's funny… Jon and I shared so much, yet somehow, nothing ever came of it. Perhaps the sorrow I feel is partially due to the knowledge that nothing can possibly come of it given the current situations. It's difficult to let go of the only lengthy and worthwhile relationship I've ever had, knowing full well that it's the last. I will never be in the situation to date… it's an added tension that I probably do not need, nor would I have the opportunity to experience. It would be like buying bald tires for your new car… I'm "spent."
I feel that all I can do is to enjoy the time I can spend with Jon taking one day at a time in the same way I live each day as it presents itself. I can expect nothing, for to do so only makes shattered expectations all the more trying.
Jan. 4, 1984… It's rather entertaining business, this autobiography; it's fun to be able to sit back and remember the ways in which you saw the world as a child. Truthfully, my mind still thinks the way it did then. I've merely learned more, gained objectivity… but I'm essentially the same. Perhaps one changes more than he thinks, however, it could be that, so gradual is the widening of that perception, one is not really aware of the changes amassed in his brain. Nevertheless, I'm enjoying my writing, trying to include all material which is of marked consequence.
Jan. 5, 1984… Today was rather a wasted day in that I was unable to venture downtown due to the frequently repeated trips to the bathroom. However, I did listen to the subliminal tape which Norm gave me for Xmas. It is composed of seashore sounds and is relaxing. My tape is entitled "Phsyconeuroimmunology…Beneficial Influence of the Mind on Health," which was described as being helpful with regard to the immune system. Maybe it'll get rid of my "Big C"! That's a long shot but one can't just roll up the carpets and close shop. At any rate, it's cheaper than Greece and couldn't hurt. I'll just have to be wary of any cravings… if I suddenly get the indispensable urge to drink only coke, perhaps the input is an advertisement Ha!
I can never quite go along with the idea that one gives oneself diseases. At 13, I didn't know what cancer was, death via a serious illness was the farthest thing from my mind, much less my desire. I believe the reason I can… at times… accept my plight now is that 1. I've had it before. 2. I never really quite accepted the diagnosis that I was "cured." 3. I've been sick to my stomach for years following my first operation. . . I was never leading a "normal" life. 4. I've always felt "doomed" to a degree. 5. I've tried chemo and it didn't work; since I hold American doctors in high esteem, I am not as readily accepting of other country's "cures," especially if there are no facts to back up their claims. 6. I cannot live from one "cure" hope to the next. Disappointments become unbearable if that is all one ever encounters.
I can't believe that I would want what I have, given all of the suffering that I've endured. Sometimes I wish it could all end, either by my recovery or my death. Living half-way becomes difficult when one's prospects are bleak. If only I could be healthy… feel healthy… the things I'd want to do!!!
Jan. 12, 1984… I stopped at "Rags to Riches" and inquired whether they bought clothes which were second-hand, since it was a second-hand clothing shop. (So intelligent a question, no?!) She informed me they work on consignment. I have 16 prs. of pants that I intend to bring in. It is rather difficult to let go of those pants. I guess somewhere in my head, I hoped that I'd be cured and be able to fit them again. But the chances of that are slim. My body doesn't seem to be able to "get on" the road to recovery. I'd be exceptionally healthy if I wasn't such a physical wreck.
Jan. 15, 1984… I made breakfast for Norm and me… then we went to Wild Cat Den… we took a good hike back into the park… it was snowy so wore Mom's high boots. I really did well, I thought; I felt good. Going up the steep grades presented a bit of a problem, but otherwise it went better than I had thought. (Maybe the tape's working.)