When I was younger, I used to sit on my floor in front of my full length mirror. At times, I would sit and talk to myself. But usually, I would have full conversations with other people...not people I actually saw and not an imaginary friend. (I actually never had imaginary friends, only imaginary animals and a dragon. But thats probably a story for another time). I would sit and act out conversations I might have with people in my present life, or act out conversations and situations with made up people or scenarios.
Maybe I was just a very bored middle child. Maybe I just liked looking at myself in the mirror. Or maybe I just wanted to act out every possible scenario to decrease my anxiety about my future. Regardless of the reason why, I keep coming back to one scene I played out regularly. I used to pretend I was dying. I would come up with elaborate scenarios of tragic accidents, or some terminal illness. I would play out conversations with loved ones. I would change my role from hopeful dying patient to an angry bitter one. I would stare at myself with tears in my eyes, telling every person things I wanted to say but never could. Giving them advice for their own future. Live in the moment, dont mourn my death but celebrate my life. Things I thought dying people should say and do.
As I got older, I stopped my mirror scenes. At least the dramatic dying tales. There are times I still talk to myself or act out scenarios.....or just dance....but only in a mature, grown up kind of way. Over the years Ive often thought about what purpose it serves. The therapist in me normalizes it. It was mt way of processing the world around me, trying to minimize anxiety, and maybe deal with my fear of death. The scared irrational kid in me thinks it was all an omen. Some forewarning or practice for the future.
A week ago, I went to a long overdue gyno appointment. My doctor had immediate concerns and sent me for an ultra sound the next day. Turns out, I have a "rather large mass" on my right ovary. Its highly possible its a very benign, non threatening "chocolate cyst" typically associated with endometreosis. (A condition they thought I maybe had a few years back). Its also possible its cancer. But no one will know that until they open me up and take a look at my insides. It all seems so dramatic. And of course my instinct is to catasrophize the situation.
My first instinct.... im dying. This is the beginning of the end and that phone call from the doctor is one I will remember for my now very short existence of a life. I will now have to wrap up unfinished business and decide what the sum of my life equals.
My rational and seemingly optimistic side says its fine. This sucks but after this one surgery and some recovery time, ill be perfectly fine and able to continue my life as i please. Ill spend a few weeks on my couch relaxing and catching up on my shows and movies and sleeping....a lot.
I always wondered what kind of person i would be if i ever got news of uncertain medical issues and impending death. Turns out, Im not quite the hopeful inspiring dying type I envisioned myself to be. At least not in this moment. Mostly, ive become an isolating pessimistic type. I just want to be alone. And drink and avoid and distract myself until its over. Dont get me wrong, I do have my moments of hope. And optimism but, generally I would just like it all to go away.
So I know it wont go away. And its something I have to deal with whether I like it or not. And I hope Im able to process and move to a more hopeful, inspiring place. But today, I choose doubt. And feeling scared. And at the very least, I choose to appreciate and accept and be grateful fpr all the love and support I have received in the last few months. That, i can be optimistic and hopeful about.