Fear is blocking my creativity

I wanted to try to write another article for Medium again. I tried writing two different drafts on separate topics last night and tonight and I just couldn’t get in the right frame of mind to finish them. They were both crap and I knew it. I wasn’t in the state of “flow” that I needed to be in, where the words come out of me easily.

In this case, I know that what’s blocking me is my fear. Not fear of writing, really, although I do feel some pressure that my next article better be good after such awesome responses to my others.

No, instead what I’m feeling is fear of being alone when J’s gone. (He starts another round of chemo tomorrow, can you tell?)

I feel like I’m caught in this weird in-between state, where I’m supposed to cherish every moment that he’s still here and I feel a lot of pressure to avoid thinking about when he won’t be.

But this is difficult, if not impossible, for several reasons. For one thing, real life still has to go on as normal, and it’s a lot of pressure to make even the mundane moments feel special.

For another thing, I’m really terrified that I won’t have enough money to survive —or at least not here. The thought has actually crossed my mind that I could end up having to move back to Michigan, despite having fought so hard to get out of there. I still hate it there for many reasons (and it’s cold there, which I hate extra intensely!), but it is possible to get a very cheap house there. At least I’d have my parents there and a few friends.

I’ve thought about moving to Oklahoma City because it’s only a couple of hours from here but I literally don’t know anyone there. That idea sounds just as bad. While the weather would be better than in Michigan and I could still keep my doctors here, it wouldn’t be that much cheaper.

There’s also the fear about being completely alone. I know I’ll never meet anyone else I love like J. But does that necessarily mean that I should never again marry anyone? I feel guilty even thinking about that. I feel like it should be enough to just live alone with my cats.

The fact is that cancer makes me feel like it’s a battle we’re fighting alone. Nobody really wants to hear about it. And I try to keep it at bay and we rarely even talk about it as a family, trying to keep our lives as normal as possible.

But really, nothing about this is normal, and I can only deny that for so long.

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