It isn’t my responsibility to help you deal with me having
cancer. It isn’t.
I have enough to handle.
I’m dealing with me having cancer.
I’m dealing with DP dealing with me having cancer.
I’m dealing with my kids dealing with me having cancer.
I’m dealing with my parents dealing with me having cancer.
I am sorry you are upset. I really am.
I’m kind of glad too, in a sick and twisted way, as it probably means
you care about me. And that you think it sucks I’m going through this.
But I can’t help you deal with this. I can’t tell you it will all be
okay. I can’t hug you and comfort
you and be there for you, and talk about your fears of mortality. I can’t help you digest this news, and
hear you imagine what you would do if this was happening to you. I just can’t.
I have too much on my plate as it is.
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