I don’t know the answer to this one anymore.

After 50+ years on this planet, and much self-analysis, I thought I had a fair enough idea, but then life threw me a curve ball. I got sick! Breast cancer to be precise.

I went through the treatment, and coped. In fact I coped fairly well, considering; considering it is pretty brutal.

But somewhere in all of this I got lost again, and the guilt of feeling bad after surviving an illness that kills way too many people is desperate.

During treatment I imagined how nothing would ever stand in my way again, nothing would prevent me from achieving great things.

And yet here I sit, accepting my self-imposed limitations on everything.

Misery beckons.

So I talk. And then I talk some more. And in the midst of all this talking I glean snippets of the “how” and the “when” of recovery, and with a lot of effort I am hoping this will lead me back to the “WHO” of who I am.

Surviving is dammed hard.

Who knew?