Blogging as a refuge
Days leading up to a potential life-altering outcome—I dissolve into a spiraling mess.
Having health anxiety means I’m unable to go for an annual mammogram without having myself already dead and buried.
Since my mother died young, in her forties, I’m convinced her fate will also be mine.
Did her death when I was 15 rewire my brain into developing this debilitating anxiety toward illness and death? (I really need to hash this out in therapy)
Last week, my dad found out he has stomach cancer. It was a shock to all of us. I’m scared for him. I don’t want him to suffer, and I’m still grappling with life without him. We’ve had a tumultuous relationship over the years, and I don’t feel ready to lose my papa. I need more time.
Writing on this tiny blog has felt like a lifeline lately. I’ve journaled all my life, but something happens when you type the words online for someone else to read. It creates space for vulnerability and forges this invisible string, tying far-flung strangers together across the web.
Blogging feels like a refuge and reminds me that we’re all sharing this bumpy, precarious timeline—together.
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