Some people say they love me.
And maybe they think they mean it.

But love doesn’t look like silence.
It doesn’t look like disappearing when things get uncomfortable.
And it definitely doesn’t look like watching my life fall apart while talking shit behind my back.

Let’s be real:
Some of you are “supportive” in public and shady as hell in private.
You repost my words, but roll your eyes at how “dramatic” I am.
You say I’m “so strong” in a comment, then whisper that I just want attention.
You like my post, then laugh about me to someone else.


I’ve heard the comments.
“She’s always making it about her cancer.”
“She used to be fun, now it’s all illness all the time.”
“If I were dying, I wouldn’t talk about it so much.

Let me say this clearly:
I’m not dying loudly.
I’m surviving honestly.

And if that threatens your comfort or your performative version of friendship —
That’s a you problem, not a me one.


Here’s what’s worse than abandonment:
Fake love.

The kind that wants to be seen clapping for me, but is secretly waiting for me to shut up.
The kind that watches every story, reads every post, consumes every vulnerable thing I write —
but can’t be bothered to send a real message.
Or worse, sends one and then trashes me behind the scenes.

That’s not love.
That’s image management.

You don’t actually care.
You just care what caring looks like.


And yet, when you need support?
When you want grace, empathy, or someone to drop everything and show up?

I’m supposed to be there.
I’m supposed to be loving and generous and understanding —
even though you haven’t spoken to me in weeks.
Even though I know the things you’ve said about me when you thought it wouldn’t get back.

Here’s the truth:
I know who’s really in my corner.
And I know who’s just waiting for the story to end so they can move on without guilt.


So if you’re reading this, and it makes you squirm — good.
If you’ve ever “checked in” just to feel better about not being around — this is for you.
If you’ve ever looked at me like I’m a burden, a buzzkill, or an inconvenience —
Please stop saying you love me.
Because love doesn’t belittle me.
Love doesn’t mock me when I’m not in the room.
Love doesn’t look like support in the comments and cruelty in the group chat.


I’m tired of being brave for people who gossip.
Tired of being soft for people who shade me.
Tired of letting anyone weaponize my story against me.

I don’t want your pity.
I don’t want your fake concern.
And I don’t want love that only exists when other people are watching.


From Mojo:

You don’t have to speak dog to know I see everything.

I know who disappears when she’s hurting.
I know who only shows up when it’s time to clap.
I know who watches all her stories but never checks in.
And I definitely know who says one thing to her face and another when she’s not in the room.

You think I’m just laying here, snoring and minding my business?
I am snoring. But I’m also keeping receipts.

You don’t get to call her “inspiring” and then turn around and say she’s attention-seeking.
You don’t get to say “I love you” and then act annoyed that she’s still sick.
You don’t get to pretend you care just because you double-tapped a post.

She doesn’t need fans. She needs friends.
The kind who actually show up.
The kind who don’t flinch when the truth gets heavy.
The kind who don’t treat her illness like a trending topic.

And if you’re not that?
Go ahead and unfollow.
Unsubscribe.
Disappear for real.

Because I promise you —
she doesn’t need you.
She’s got me.

And I don’t do fake.

— Mojo 🐾

One response to “Shady “Support””

  1. lol511 Avatar

    Whoever the hell this is about needs a swift kick in the teeth and a bite on the ankle by Mojo. 🔪

    Like

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I’m Izzy

Welcome to mojo and the mess, This isn’t the blog I ever expected to write — but it’s the one I needed.

I’m Izzy, a twenty-something living (and dying) with terminal cancer, navigating the messy, heartbreaking, unexpectedly beautiful in-between. Here, you’ll find raw reflections, real talk, dog snuggles (shoutout to Mojo), and the unfiltered truth about what it’s like to face the end of your life before it really got going.

This space is for the ones who’ve felt forgotten, the ones who don’t know what to say, and the ones who are still holding on. It’s not always pretty, but it’s always honest.

Thanks for being here. You’re part of the mess now — and I mean that in the best way.

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