Wednesday, October 31, 2012

The "B" word

Biopsy ...

From Greek -  Bios, meaning "Life" and Opsis, meaning "a Sight

Such a simple word.  Beautiful and innocent in its implication, "A sight of life."  Absolutely horrifying in its connotation, "You may have cancer."

Words cannot describe the way I feel right now ... Uncertainty, fear, hopelessness, appreciation, love, optimism, depression, capitulation, determination, loneliness, abandonment, strength and vulnerability all intertwined and strangling every fiber of my being while trying to breathe life into my soul.

I cannot wait to get the tests over with and get the results, while at the same time dreading every step of the way.

I cannot allow myself to fall into the trap of regretting my past decisions, to worry about what might have been if only.  I need to focus on where I am and what I need to do to get to where I belong.  I have decided to share a poem I wrote about four years ago that truly foreshadows my bout with depression and my inevitable struggle to find my female identity.

As a side note, my cats are very intuitive.  At least one cat has constantly been by my side or on my lap since I got home last Tuesday worrying about my situation ... especially my Moose kitty and my Little One.

If you would like to read the poem, here it is:

*** *** ***

My Charade

Sitting, laughing with my friends,
Merriment that never ends.
This fa├žade can’t make amends.

Happiness is my charade.

Visions from my yesteryear,
Acting wild and drinking beer,
Living days so insincere.

Thinking ‘bout the choices made.

Losing life I can’t retrieve.
Mourning loss, but cannot grieve,
Emptiness I can’t conceive.

Pondering the life I’ve laid.

Sinking fast in my despair. 
Burdens far too great to bear,
Reaching out, but no one’s there. 

Loneliness, the price I’ve paid.

What I’ve sown, I now must reap,
Languid, not allowed to sleep, 
Suffering, I cannot weep.

Pain is caused by this charade.

Growing bitter in my age,
Seeking wisdom from the sage,
Wishing I could turn the page.

Weary from this game I’ve played

Consequences turning dire,
Twisting, tangled in the mire, 
Fearing I will face His ire.

I must end this masquerade.

On my search I now embark,
Stumbling, groping in the dark,
Praying, pleading for a spark,

Rescue me from my charade.