People applaud the breast cancer “survivor” who is thriving and unscrupulously happy. Like, how can they be that damn happy? Why, what secret have they found and what fountain is it shooting from because I absolutely believe it is NOT radiation or chemo or any adjunct therapies served in a silver needle, forget the spoon that takes too long for the body to process. I am a survivor, a thriver and I’m damn sad and depressed. I feel sorry for myself and wonder why not more people are reaching out. But of course they can’t. They are sad. They feel sorry for themselves. I am sad that I never get awarded the full award, here I’m going through one of the most difficult times of my life. I don’t get to do it and be admired for my strength, nooooo. I get to do this on my own, quarantined like everyone else and everyone is too busy for me. There will no longer be the resources I had to help me through this and the scarcity of things is true. We are buckling. I couldn’t even heal through a time where I could do it peacefully. It’s like I do everything to sabotage any success. I even get deathly sick at the wrong time. I feel like such a failure. This is the grit, this is the truth. This is today.