Fear

As I experience symptoms and think about the reoccurence of cancer, I get fearful. Sometimes it's irrational and out of control. To combat this overriding emotion, my therapist suggested I write a letter to fear. By personifying this powerful emotion, perhaps I'll be able to better manage it (since I don't let overpowering people control me).

Ironically, with my appoinmtent with the oncologists to review my CT scan coming up on Tuesday, I'm strangely calmer and less fearful. Am I subconsciously confident all will be okay? Am I accepting of whatever the future may hold, facing each challenge that's thrown on my path? Has thinking about this letter-writing exercise worked?

Regardless of why, it's a better feeling. Hopefully I can maintain it during the weekend because it's supposed to be a beautiful one.

So here's my letter to that controlling emotion, fear.

Dear Fear,

Back off! Sure, you have a place in my life, but you’re getting way too pushy for my liking.

I don’t know who you think you are, trying to take over. I think we’d both be further ahead if you stayed in your place and did your job. Then I wouldn’t hate you and grow frustrated at the person you make me become.

You do have a valuable role to ensure my safety. When you stick to your job of warning me of danger, you can be a valuable friend. It’s you that encourages me to lock my doors at night, wear a bicycle helmet, be extra cautious when driving my motorcycle and look both ways before I cross a street. The fight or flight instinct you initiate is valuable and saves many a life.

But, I’m sick and tired of you trying to control my life. You’re being a sneaky bastard too, popping up when I least expect it, whispering in my ear, drawing attention to aches and pains that may mean absolutely nothing to my overall health. When you make a production out of it, the pains join in the folly, growing in size and importance. It’s a show I don’t enjoy and I want no part of it.

I do need to be aware of the signs of ovarian cancer’s return, but you take any little ache and turn it into a major production. What a drama queen, you are.

Instead, quietly tap me on the shoulder and remind me to pay attention. Tell me you think it’s probably nothing, but it doesn’t hurt to be aware. Let the evidence of the symptoms speak for themselves.

But no, you barrel down my consciousness, exaggerate each twinge, bring up every miserable memory of fighting cancer so I dread facing it again, and almost drive me crazy with panic.

Your overriding presence makes my stomach knot, my muscles ache with tension and my mind numb with worry. When you’re really singing and dancing to gain my attention, I feel as though I’m being squeezed around my arms all the way into my heart. You’re like a giant boa constrictor, immobilizing me.

I’m frustrated with the way you make me feel. You tamp down on my optimism and enthusiasm. You block me from finding pleasure in the small miracles every day brings. You prevent me from simply enjoying my life. Your actions make me want to ignore you; throw your advice to the curb.

You are valuable to my life and my health, but only if you tone it down. I can’t trust you unless you become an adviser and a friend, instead of trying to hog the spotlight of my mind.

Tina