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Oh cancer... you still confuse me. You ruined my body... I'm not strong or fast, or even average most of the time, you made me loose my hair, and I don't think I've lost that self-consiousness yet, and that was nigh on 15 years ago. You've scarred me, and scared me, and I'm missing a kidney. You symbolize my entire fucking childhood, that whole theme of sickness... I want to blame you for SO MUCH, but I end up blaming myself... I know I could overcome most of your aftereffects if I tried.
But, you also gave me things. You made me stronger willed, I'm a survivor after all, nothing else can phase me. I kick metaphorical ass, I act tough even when I'm not. You've made me a giver... all I want to do now is help others, especially those who know what I've been through... I've donated my hair twice now. You expanded my imagination... what more could a little girl do in bed besides dream? I am a strong beautiful woman, and I beat you down!
NEVER have I really asked why me? Never that...
why NOT me really...
Why the FUCK did I survive?
To give me complexes that maybe in some way I'm important? Is there really a God? If yes, why would you afflict a sweet little 5 year old girl, and do you have some purpose for me? Really?
If I had not been born, there would have been one less child to cart between broken homes... My mom would have had money enough to build the house when she planned to, and she might have even afforded a better contractor. She might have been able to help pay for my brother's school.