9 years as a Stager IV or: I didn't expect to live this long.

Holy Fuck. Here it is: NINE YEARS after my original diagnosis and I'm still fucking alive.

Excuse me if I don't seem more grateful as opposed to suprised, but after living under the Sword of Damocles for so long one would expect to understand the fucking burden of this concept. The last nine years have been a constant russian-roulette epitome that I've lost sight of what's "normal life" vs "cancer life expectations". But yeah, I'll agree I'm a lucky mother-fucker.

I've witnessed a few "cancer-warriors" in social media fade off & die, including one that was considering brain surgery vs radiation, at the same time as I was back in 2023. She chose surgery and died. Holy fuck.

Yet, here I am. Having had brain radiation three times in a row since 2022. What does this mean? I choose correctly and she didn't? It's a hard pill to swallow. Guilt is a bitch.

I'm just rambling. Honestly, I have zero goals. Zero vision. I'm lost my own creative desert, expecting the muses to awaken my artistic spirit. But it's not there. I'm already dead, based on my original diagnosis. Waiting for the Grim Reaper to show his ass and take me to the land of milk & honey. But, funny enough, that bitch won't show up...

Why? 

Oh, I still have something I need to do? Contribute? GODDAMN!!!

False

Who the fuck knows. So I drink. I toke. I fuck, in the hopes that I reignite that artistic passion I had before cancer. That motherfucking tumor that defined my longevity nine years ago, only to realize I was already dead and had nothing to fear about.

If I wasted 9 years, it was only to realize that being blind to the fact that nothing defines your contribution to the selfless act of self-deprecation. As an artist I'm already dead. There is no lesson here, other than to ENJOY YOUR YOUTH, ENJOY YOUR LIFE! 

'nuff said

Last Chapter: Final Chapter: Whatever...

It's been a long ride dear Reader. Your MexiCAN friend is exhausted in many ways, yet I wonder if this is just the meds, post radiation s/e, or just growing old & bitter.

Aging like a fine vinegar

It's hard not to look back and wonder "what-if". Especially as I stretch into the golden years, better known as AARP lunch-meat. Nonetheless, here I am. Heading into 2025 with zero resolutions, other than to just enjoy the present and realize that I'm alive. It's been a while reconciling that fact. I feel a constant anger in my basement. Something that I quite haven't brought to surface for fear of exposing my family to the lingering resentment I quite can't really define. Resentment to living? Or feeling the obligation to live on so that others can continue living up to their status-quo? 

similar fire, but not quite this prophetic

It's especially hard when you see other cancer patients living their "journey" by contributing to humanity by feeding the homeless or climbing Machu Picchu, expecting to find God thru Instagram posts. Me? I don't give a fuck at all about any of that shit. But I highly feel a sense of obligation in making sure my family is covered as much as possible after my demise. And that's certainly defined my cancer journey. 

Yay Cancer!!! #machupichufeedingtribessnickers

I've been at this for almost eight years: Chemo, radiation, immunotherapy, hip replacement and 5 clinical trials. Yet, the biggest issue has been keeping myself mentally stable to ensure the welfare of my family. Trying to keep the norms has been the biggest fucking burden on me. But recently my daughters have noticed the chinks in my armor, and weirdly enough I'm embarrassed by that. They're realizing that their Superman is mortal, and has anger.

Best comic EVAR, I might add

It's tough, especially as my oldest is reaching her teens. She's coming into her own persona, and the last thing I want to be is an weak/unsuitable father. I know, seems extreme. But I want the best for both of them, and I often wonder if it's best to fade away as opposed to continually expose them to this resentment.The unnatural resentment for being forced to live so they can be OK. 

Jesus, what a concept. 

Holy Toast!!!

Maybe I'm just rambling after taking 3 shots of Don Julio Reserva. It's already 2 am and have nothing better to do other than to put my thoughts into writing as I listen to the Xanadu soundtrack.

Happy 2025, I guess...