thank you for sticking around amidst apocalypse.
or, a letter to update you on surgery + recovery + feelings
Hi friends,
By the time you read this, I’ll be recovering from a diagnostic laparoscopic surgery for my suspected endometriosis.1
For full transparency, this road has been lonely, isolating, and sobering. These appointments cover many practical matters, such as pre-operative instructions and post-operative aftercare. However, something my surgeon did not cover was the excruciating mental toll this disease takes. One of the most fraught parts of the journey has been prioritising myself and my care amongst all the other moving parts. Combining the deteriorating body and the mental mind-fucks I’m navigating through is challenging for me to cope with. Thank you for being there, especially when I’ve been pushing people away.2 I appreciate your patience and understanding as I try to find my way through tough moments.
It is difficult to show up for others in the ways they want and crave because, and I mean this with my whole chest, I cannot even show up for myself in basic ways during this time. And because I’m in crisis, it feels confusing that I’m craving connection that isn’t readily accessible to my current state. This lack of patience on both sides leads to hurt, anger, and miscommunication. It makes it difficult to find common ground and reach a place of understanding. I know I’m in relationships that I’ve worked hard to secure. However, I revert to disorganized attachment patterns if I’m in crisis. Because, to be honest, I can’t even trust my body to be functional and it causes misunderstanding in my mind. They’re always fighting and things are strained between them. It’s frustrating because I can’t seem to get a handle on it, no matter what I do. I hate having to put many things on hold and focus on my own needs.
I can’t sit with every person I love in the ways they’re accustomed to. I feel a little like Shrek right now, because the grief and stress have multiple layers! 3 It’s funny because I made my brand off being that Shrek-crazed weirdo, but like, the stress and inevitable breakdown of my body and mind have layers and I am processing it all at once, in a compressed period. When the surgery and initial tough days of recovery are over, I’m sure I’ll feel some relief because I’ll have more data and answers. I’m consumed by an inferno of anger, a righteous fury ignited by years of mistreatment, gaslighting and general disbelief in my symptoms and experience.
I think, aside from the gravity of carrying disease and crippling disability, is the burden I incur on others. It’s become a practice in tending to my inner child and her needs4 because that’s the part I revert to when I’m increasingly stressed. This shit is hard to deal with and by writing and naming it here, in this letter to all of you, I hope it doesn’t excuse my behavior — but I hope it explains and names it for you. I, too, am disappointed in the ways I cannot meet people where they’re at and I get impatient with hearing about the ways some of my friends escape into hedonism or their avoidance. Knowing this for a while, I’ve realized that relationships, like nature, are subject to the ebb and flow of the seasons.
The breadth of human experience is both universal5 through dukkha, but quite individualized because each of us brings different things to the table. Our relationships are complex and involve vulnerability, and extending compassion means letting go of preconceived notions and attachments. It’s tough to do that now, especially when I’m not even healthy enough to function at a basic level. It’s even more compounded considering the polycrisis, a religious-fueled fascist regime is about to enter office, and to confront the fact that through their words and actions, people that I love and I thought loved me back, do not feel like my life has value because of disability. Perhaps the latter is untrue, but I offer this as a challenge to those who consider themselves “normal.” It’s sobering to see that some of my loved ones are not far along in their unlearning yet, and maybe they’ll never be where I’m at. Frankly, I lack the patience to guide others through their own self-inflicted negativity. My priority is taking care of myself.
Writing this letter to you is a step for me to ask for your help in the spirit of community care. For those of you nearby (in the NYC metro area,) please e-mail me back or reach out to me because the best ways you can help me are by contributing to my recovery! This involves mutual aid: including helping my partner and me with our dogs, help me go out on gentle walks in order to boost my recovery, and helping us make meals. For those of you who are further away, I urge you to check out the following resources, read up on some disability literature from some of my favourite teachers, creators and orgs, and if you have the means and money — donate to any of these organizations. Or, even more pressing, the mutual aid for Gazans amidst the genocide happening there.
Carers and Carers by Esmé Weijun Wang6
Suicidal Ideation 2.0 by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha7
Seriously, I'm grateful for your love and support right now. We are all collectively going through it, and in my fury and anger8, I’ve been inattentive to others and their times of need. And while I can’t meet them where they’re at (and vice versa,) I figured I’d send a letter in order to explain where I’m at and provide resources and ways for you to care amidst apocalypse.
I hope to see you in the New Year with new content and hopefully, with more answers. Take good care of yourselves and your communities.
Much love & in solidarity,
C x
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If I have endometriosis, the same surgery will have that tissue excised for removal, so I don’t have to do another one in the future. (Of course, that’s already an issue considering this disease has no cure. But this footnote is burying the lede now, isn’t it?)
There are over 400 of you subscribed to this tiny little shitshow of a publication, and I’m forever grateful for your support.
I’m being facetious and it’s obvious, but I mean it, it’s a multi-factorial stress that keeps accumulating.
Having identified as a cis-woman for the first 27 years of my life, my inner child is undoubtedly a girl.
Thank you, Buddhism!
Esmé is one of my writing mentors, informal teachers and someone I look up to. In particular, this piece was timely because of her own illnesses compounding with her husband’s.
This is probably the closest thing I’ve felt in my chest to what’m experiencing now.
It originates from various sources for many, but for me, it comes from an abundance of love.
Sending lots of care 💗
Get better soon <3