Rage against

***Explicit language warning***

I use a lot in this post.

If the use of that kind of language hurts you,

please skip this one.

Last night, I dreamt of fire. I dreamt of melting fat, melting people, melting me. I dreamt that I pulled off my own skin and flesh and all that was inside of me was putrescence.  I don't need a psychic to interpret this one. It's pretty fucking obvious.

Yesterday, when I posted my entry, my wife, who knows me better than anyone else, gave me a gentle critique. She said I was trying too hard to be pithy.

She is absolutely right.

Yesterday's post wasn't dishonest, per se, but it came from my head, not my heart. Now it's 2:37 in the morning and my side effects have doubled, maybe even tripled. My head is so swollen it hurts. My body feels like it's on fire, and the fire's an electrical one. There is a constant whine in my ears that keeps getting louder and louder and it's driving me insane.

I am so angry.

I can hear my own words echoing back at me. "Anger is a secondary emotion. It covers up pain, shame and fear."

No shit.

I am a ball of white hot rage. Because right now it feels better than the fucking alternative. I'm in pain. I'm afraid. I'm ashamed. Everything hurts. Nothing feels right inside of me. I'm ashamed of my body, filled with poison. I'm terrified I'm going to die.

And in moments like this, I'm terrified I won't.

I don't really want to die. I just want this to end. It's so fucking hard. I just want to sleep. I want to eat. I want to make love with my wife. The cancer and the chemo are robbing me of the simple, straightforward joys of life. Even breathing's an effort. Everything's corrupt. My mouth is a festering sore of foulness. My skin is ablaze. My body is toxic.

So what do I do? Fuck if I know. I get up at 2am and write, I guess. Try to push back the fire with my words. With my imagination. With my breath.

Anyone who knows fire knows that is a terrible idea.

But what the fuck else am I supposed to do? Give up? Numb everything out? Lie down and take it?

NO! FUCK YOU, TODD. I do not give you permission over my will. You're ravaging my body and my mind, you fucker, but you will not have ME.

When I'm angry, anger speaks to me. This morning, it's Rage against the Machine and Dylan Thomas.
The song I'll post a link for. Yes, it has explicit lyrics, but if you've gotten this far, that's not really a thing anymore, right?

The Dylan Thomas I'll copy here.

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Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Next post.