Are we the cause of our own problems?

Watching my mom go through this horror story has caused me to question, doubt, and reconsider everything I believe about the way the world works and life happens.

I really can’t fathom that my mom attracted this horrible illness into her experience. But was it really her responsibility? To stay relaxed and healthy in the mind so she could not allow disease in her body?

This is what some people believe. I also think it’s why people instinctively tend to stay away when their friends get sick. They consciously come up with reasons not to get in touch with that sick friend because subconsciously they don’t want any illness in their lives so they stay away from that energy.

It’s why people distance themselves so deeply from a disease in their mind. “Oh, me?” They think. “I’ll never get a terminal illness. I’ll never get cancer- that’s something that only happens to other people. I’m fine.”

They find it hard to relate. They feel sorry, but can’t connect with you. They can’t fathom the experience because they don’t WANT to.

OR they consciously decide that you probably sinned before in your life and are paying the consequences. (hahahahaha… hah)

Her personality has temporarily become so awful, too. She refuses to take her pill, drink, eat., gets mad at us and hateful, even.. it’s like the cancer even took her will to live away. I’m constantly arguing with her about it, begging her to swallow a pill, and getting frustrated when she starts to suffer because she didn’t take it..

Is this what people become like when they’re dying? Stubborn and impossible to the point of killing themselves?

Or is it just when you’ve been fighting a constant battle for your life that you just want to make your own choices? And not be forced for once? Being hooked up to machines and operated on, etc etc…

Weeks ago, I thought my mom was dying so I let her drink all the coke she wanted out of the soreness of my heart– she has cancer and loves the poisonous bottled Coke, I thought, and it was the only calories she was taking in for about a month. The nurse even encouraged it.

But the Coke started up some terrible acidic vomiting. And now she’s getting no calories besides maybe a glass of apple juice.

The most horrific part of all of this is that the doctors think we are prolonging her life, and suffering her. They don’t care when we call them anymore. I don’t understand! Her cancer isn’t even THAT advanced. They just seem to think she’s going to die anyway, so why not now? But I don’t understand because she has a slow growing form of cancer… She can live another six months or a year! She has plenty of time.

Anyway, I finished reading the Divergent series while sitting next to my mom.  And I realized that I do NOT want to write a book about murder or killing. I’m so tired of reading about murder, murder, killing, killing… So tired of it! I enjoyed the Divergent series, it was damn well plotted, and I grieved and appreciated the end of Allegiant, but the book didn’t change me the way a great novel does. Not the way I changed as a pre-teen and I read Looking for Alaska. Or even  Tell the Wolves I’ m Home. What books have changed you?

I realized today one thing: The whole plot of a novel is really just the characters unfolding. And life is like that too, I thought I was spending my high school and first post-high school/college years learning about myself, but then I realized, you never really know yourself. You are ALWAYS going to be learning about yourself. You can always surprise you. You are constantly unfolding, as you go through life, responding to situations and making decisions and acting.


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