Wallowing versus action.
Five months ago, right after my diagnosis, a decision had to be made. Wallow in self-pity or get up with fists flailing ready to do battle. On the one hand, wallowing seemed easier--crying, feeling sorry for myself, indulging in unhealthy eating habits, receiving comforting words from well wishers--but was it really easier? When reality hit I decided to say no to the self absorbed unhappiness because it could have driven me into a whimpering fetal position with an additional twenty pounds of flubber and a big loser stamp on my head. No one wants that future.
Fortunately the depth of self destruction never sunk that low when I had an epiphany of how action was the preferable route to take on this new and unfamiliar journey of life. Stumbling along the unknown while systematically looking for distractions, I found a way to refocus negative energy into a more positive and healthier approach. By researching and then ranting about my findings, I am beginning to feel and act like an activist. It sure beats crying jags and moping. Now you may better understand my blogs about metastatic cancer research/money/injustice of funding/any other tangent I rally about, because it is my voice coming through loud and clear using this unique form of therapeutic energy.
Thanks, and I really mean thanks, for reading # 52 of 7777.
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