15/09/15-Beer Garden, Matlock: I’ve just had a yoga session with a wonderful and kind friend, I have some time to kill waiting for my bus home. It’s a bright sunny, warm afternoon so I sit with a coffee in the fresh air outside a pub feeling relaxed and calm and I email myself the following:
‘I’m not angry. I’ve not wondered why me? I think I just feel sad. I don’t feel sorry for myself it’s more like empathy. Weird, to feel empathy for self-I’m not sure if that’s possible but that’s what it feels like. I feel such a deep sense of sadness for the woman that I am, as if I were someone I know, which of course I am.
It’s just such a shame. Not a tragedy, just a shame. That’s all.’
And later when I come to read this note back to myself, I know it’s the truth. I’m really not angry. I’m not angry with my cancer and I’m not frightened of my cancer. I don’t have any overwhelming need to ‘get it out’ of me because it is me. I just feel this deep empathy with my own body, with my breast, with my cells.
and I’m so very sorry that my body is broken and that I cannot heal it…