I decided to add some shit

I moved to a small town on the peninsula of Washington State in 2020, in November. Like, 2 month after we got here Covid hit, then within 6 months I had cancer. Other than the people at the Center, and the people I live with, I don't know anyone. The closest friend I have is in Spokane, the next closest is in Humboldt County. The friend in Spokane comes out every couple of months and stays the weekend, but she works 6 days a week and has an old man. Dude's cool enough to not cause a problem when she comes out, but fuck, Tonya and I have been friends for 30 years. I don't think I would be as cool as her old man, so I give him credit. When she comes out is the only time I can really talk about this shit with someone I care about outside of family. That's kind of weighing on me. I mean, fuck, some shit you can't just keep running around in your head, never letting it out. Sleep has become motherfucker. Even with meds I usually only get 1 - 2 hours of sleep a night. A few weeks of that and shit starts going sideways. I almost ended up on a locked unit because I sort of lost it. Just couldn't stop thinking about dying. Throughout my whole cancer ordeal it's been weird. I've felt like I was faking or lying because it didn't seem real. The cancer itself hasn't caused any pain. The treatments we're harsh, but except for the lump in my throat I've never really noticed the existence on the tumors. I could see them on CT and PET scans, but those were just pictures. So my brain just sort of ignored the whole dying part. I would get sick from radiation or from Immunotherapy, but that was from treatment. I don't know, but the other day my brain decided to acknowledge that I was going to die soon, and wouldn't stop. Over and over and over I would just run though all the really bad parts. Cyclic thinking. I couldn't concentrate on anything enough to break out of it. Went on for about 18 hours. I take a benzo for anxiety, but it hadn't been working. The liquid morphine wasn't working. So I said fuck it, doubled the dose of the benzo, and drank a beer with it. Worked fucking killer, I've been able to get 7-8 hours a night since. Was a little sketched on it though, with the amount of weight I've lost I'm leery of fucking with the dosages of the benzos and opiates. With all the drug use when I was younger, I knew enough to avoid over use of any of the opiates, and valium and the other fun pills. I had enough addictions, I didn't need any more. Now I give a fuck, before I wouldn't have taken a benzodiazepine on a daily basis, but addiction isn't a fear any more. Neither are politics and environmental concerns. I might make it through the election cycle, but not by much. Going by the way the tumors have formed in the past, I'm thinking by the end of the year shit will be getting pr0blematic. I don't know what will happen then. Since I've opted out of treatment, I just sort have to deal with it. I'm on hospice, but not daily, and I can't run to the ER every time something feels weird and I get scared. Fuck.

You know how people bitch about Americas medical system and how expensive it is? It is expensive, but Apple Health has me with Molina and I haven't had to pay except for some small shit here and there. My treatments have run into the millions, there's no possible way I could have paid for this. So I don't bitch about the U.S. not having socialized medicine anymore. I am very grateful for the help. I'm also grateful I'm not alone. If this had happened 10 years ago, I would have blown off the doctors advice and ignored the problem until it killed me, and I would have done it alone. That really would have sucked. About 6 months ago Hospice recommended that I talk to a grief counselor. The counselor turned out to be a woman a couple years younger than me who had undergone treatment, including incredibly invasive surgery for breast cancer. It was the first time I was able to talk to someone who knew what the fuck I was talking about. She had to leave the area for whatever reason, but she called me yesterday and she'll be back for a couple of months. So were gonna meet Thursday. She's pretty cool like, person wise. She was pretty hardcore into goth, with the funeral aesthetic and the Morrissey and he cutting. I mean, I can listen to The Smiths and The Cure, et al, and appreciate it. Little slow and whiney for me though. King of whine, Morrissey, confuses me though. In real life he's a whiney bitch, and when he sings he's a whiney bitch, but his songs are fucking crazy funny. I think his narcissism is an act and his songs are meant to be satirical. I mean, 'Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now', 'Please Please Let Me Get What I Want'? There's no way he can be serious with that shit, then he acts out in real life. This has nothing to do with cancer, Morrissey has just bugged me for a long time. Anyway, she used to be goth, more Bauhaus than The Cure though, so we have had some similar experiences. Also she's my age so the knows what the fuck I'm talking about if I mention Keith Morris or Jello Biafra. See when I got sick, my only family was my mom and her place was a whole lot nicer than mine, especially since I didn't have one at the time. So I moved in with her. Sequim is a retirement community, the whole fucking town, and I live in a smaller retirement community outside of town.....on a golf course. I'm 10-15 years younger than anyone around here. They're all really nice, the dude right next door is a chemist who is smart as fuck and has a sense of humor, but not my generation. I sat and talked with him outside the other day, I was smoking weed, he didn't care, but made a remark about 'can't believe he lived next door to a drug dealer', he was joking of course, shit's fucking legal here. I'm really glad the counselor is coming. I'm fucking scared. I'm lonely. I don't want to die in pain.