Mojo and the Mess

by Mojo and the Mess

I keep thinking about the way people picture cancer.

They imagine a straight line.

Diagnosis → Treatment → Sick → Sicker → Gone.

Like there’s some predictable rhythm to it. Like you either get better or you get worse, and everyone watching can feel comfortable knowing which direction the story is moving.

But no one talks about the in-between.

No one talks about what it feels like to stay sick for this long.

To keep waking up in a body that’s falling apart but somehow still expected to perform life.

I’m not dying fast enough for people to understand the reality of it.

But I’m not living normally enough for people to pretend everything is fine, either.

I’m stuck in this awful middle place where I’m sick enough to terrify myself… but alive enough that people assume I should still be able to show up, smile, text back, attend, perform, be okay.

And the truth is?

I’m exhausted from existing in a body that feels like it’s glitching out of itself.

Every day I wake up to a different version of me.

Some days I can drink a Diet Coke without throwing up.

Some days I can’t keep water down.

Some days I sit on the bathroom floor shaking while Mojo pushes his little face under my arm like he’s trying to hold me here.

I don’t think people understand what it’s like to hear your body begging you to stop fighting… while your brain is screaming at you to keep going because there are people who need you, love you, rely on you, hope for you.

And then there’s the guilt.

The guilt of still being here but not being “enough” for everyone.

Not alive enough.

Not dying fast enough.

Not healing fast enough.

Not performing sickness in a way that makes sense to anyone else.

You’re not supposed to say these things out loud.

You’re not supposed to admit that some days you feel like a burden, and some days you feel like a miracle, and most days you feel like a ghost of the person you used to be.

But I’m saying it anyway.

Because I know someone out there is living in this same uncomfortable hallway between life and death—where every step echoes and no one understands where you’re going or how hard it is to keep walking.

I’m still here.

I’m still trying.

And some days, that has to be enough.

—Izzy (& Mojo, who says he didn’t approve this message but agrees with every word)

Subscriber Note:

Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading the hard parts, not just the pretty ones. Sharing my story keeps me connected to the world on days when my body makes it nearly impossible. If you want to support me, my writing, or the chaos that is “Mojo and the Mess,” here’s the link many of you ask for.

Amazon Gift List:

Check out this Gift List I just created.

https://www.amazon.com/registries/gl/guest-view/10QFFEWQ9YHD8?ref_=cm_sw_r_apin_ggr-subnav-share_418Q4R5HFCZVAMY4E7RC&language=en-US

Thank you to everyone who reads, shares, checks in, and holds space for me. Your support means more than you know, especially on the days when showing up feels impossible. I’m grateful for every single one of you. 🤍