Dear Cancer, I have so many emotions that I feel all at once. All the time. I feel like an overfilled water balloon that is ready to burst at any moment. I am angry. I’m so fucking angry. And I’m scared. And I’m exhausted. And I’m frustrated. And I’m misunderstood. And I’m isolated. And I’m mentally drained. But despite all these emotions – most of all I feel empty. You left me feeling like a shell of who I used to be. I don’t know what I want out of life anymore. I don’t really know much of anything about myself anymore, to be honest. You took the light from my eyes. And I’m reminded of that every time I look into a mirror. There are some days that I barely recognize myself. I have scars all over my body from the havoc you caused. My hair is different. My skin feels different. My body doesn’t even feel like my own. You killed a part of me. A part of me that I will never be able to get back, no matter how hard I try. You killed a part of me that was confident. A part of me that sure of myself. A part of me that hadn’t experienced real horror. And for that, I fucking hate you. But you also gave life to a new part of me. A part of me that I am still discovering and getting to know. A part of me that is stronger than I ever imagined I could be. A part of me that is and always will be a survivor. And for that, I will be forever grateful. I never would’ve imagined that at 26 years old I would be laying in my bed, crying my eyes out, and writing a letter to cancer. Even as I sit here typing it out, it doesn’t feel real to me. I look back at pictures of me over the last year and I reflect on what it was like going through treatment – and it feels like I’m watching someone else’s life. A life that just simply isn’t mine. It’s hard to believe that I was in a coma for 6 days. It’s hard to believe that I was in a wheelchair for months. It’s hard to believe that I spent over 650 hours getting chemo. It’s hard to believe that I legitimately almost died. But I did. All over the course of a year. And now I’m forced to accept that you are a part of my identity, no matter how much I try to fight it. Or how much I don’t want it to be true. I had cancer. I can’t deny that. And because of this, people see me differently. People seem confused on how to interact with me. And, in reality, I am confused on how to interact back. I hate this pull that you have over me. I hate this constant, looming fear of you returning to my life. Every cough, every ache – I worry that it’s you knocking on my door trying to take over my life and ruin everything again. I have fought so hard to beat you. To destroy you. And I’m still fighting with all the pieces you left behind. But no matter how scared I get or how much you wear me down, I will never give up. I can promise you that. This is my best attempt at trying to forgive you for doing this to me. To purge the negativity that you brought into my life. I fought for a long time to not be angry. But now I am so pissed. And in order to move on, I have to let that go. I found this quote that perfectly sums up how I feel: “Having cancer gave me membership in an elite club I’d rather not belong to.”