Dear Darling Ones,

My new biggest fear is what’s going to happen to me when the novelty of my condition wears off.

We’re closing on four months since the stroke, and I’m worried people are going to tire of helping me. And I still need so much help.

Nobody in my life has expressed to me in any way they are annoyed by my needs, but it’s still on my mind.

The lexapro I started taking during the terrible light-headedness/panic attack cycle in May has tackled the actual things that would usually cause me anxiety.

Namely that I’m full of cancer and will soon be homeless.

The full of cancer thing comes because I’m doing ALL the maintenance I should have been doing instead of ignoring my body for 50 years. My breasts are in the clear now I just got to make sure the polyp on my cervix won’t kill me (Aug 16) nor will my colon (Sep 12).

My brain already tried to take me out. I’m hoping it was a rogue agent and the rest of my parts are not in collusion with it.

The homelessness thing is because I am in massive debt with limited work & ability to work. I don’t have the stamina to go into what it’s like to be broke again, but that fun story is coming to a blog near you soon.

Pre-lexapro I’d have dove head first into the doomiest, gloomiest downward spiral this world has ever seen. In my new medicated reality I’m all, no sense worrying about all that until I know what to worry about.

So now I got all these unemployed brain weasels asking me what’s gonna happen when people get tried of helping my stroke-afflicted ass.

I still can’t get my own mail or take out my own garbage. While I can put away my groceries, I can’t get them from the door to the kitchen. I have no idea when I’ll be able to drive again.

It’s been four months and there’s still so much recovery I have to go.

My brain weasels are preying on my belief that everyone else is as tired and annoyed by my afflictions as I am.

Again, nobody has said anything of the sort to me. In fact, BFK told me this afternoon that I make helping me pretty easy. This was after she picked up some groceries for me.

I was all, “Making it easy is the very least I could do.”

And yet, I still worry. Probably because I’m the kind of impatient asshole who would think God, get better already. This is boring.

Or, hopefully, I used to be that kind of asshole. Maybe this will teach be to be more empathetic and tolerant.

Something good should come of this, right?

Still kind of a jerk,
Jodi