Mom,
I can't even fucking look at how long it's been since I've written you...not since I've THOUGHT of you, but since I've written.
Besides the fact that I'm feeling more desperate than I've felt in a very long time, I need you to know a few things:

Stan may be joining you....that is, if there IS a you somewhere...and if he goes to wherever that place may be.   But I think it's soon.  And that saddens me deeply.  

Yet...

It makes me happy to think that you will both be reuinited with each other....your one true love for each of you.   Heck, I feel bad for Selma...but Stan belongs with you.   You left way too soon Mom.   Seriously too soon.

Now for the harder part.   I, yes ME, I may be joining you both soon.   I'm trying super hard not to take any action to make that happen but get this:

The mere thought of the procedure that they will be doing (IF I still go) on Monday, may be worse for me than my own death.   I mean, how sick is that?  I'm more frightened of the procedure than the results.   I might actually cancel it.  

Hmmmmm...does Nancy have breast cancer? Who the fuck cares?  I mean, really.   ok, maybe Stu.   Even though he pisses me off something fierce sometimes....he's the only one that I think may genuinely care about and love me.    And I know with every ounce of me that he could deal with my death far better than I could deal with his.

Anyway, as the Seroquel kicks in and I type....I may not make much sense.   But I need to see how I can function with it so I can take it if I do end up going on Monday.  I have to be able to walk.  

But I'm also taking it now cuz I can't fucking cope.  I'm flipping.  I feel more alone during times like these than ever.   No one can help me.  NO ONE.    Yeah, yeah..only me.   Well that's not gonna happen.   I wish I could, but I can't.  I don't have the tools for this one yet.

I may call Mireille for a pep talk.  She understands how the sexual abuse is triggered by this crap.   I tried reaching out to Lesley for help, but in this area, she didn't really cut it.   She also took a scarf that I PAINSAKINGLY picked out over a bunch of day...a scarf that I completely wanted to keep....and have to exchange the previous one I got her...so she could just love something I give her as a gift.

She took the bag that held the scarf, and put it off to the side...not even asking me if I'd prefer that she wait or open it.  I had wanted to talk to her about my anxiety in picking something perfect out for her, but she glossed over the gift, almost as if to give me a message that it was too much (in additon to the privately made wine I gave her).  It felt punishing...or at least like she was trying to say...."ok, if I don't give too much attn to this, she will see that her gift-giving is not working".   You know, the psycho babble bullshit.   I feel like telling her that I think that wine is quite enough for her and I would simply love that lovely scarf back.

I just kinda blanked.  I think the meds are kicking in...along with the wine.   I wonder if Stan is on the same track.  

Anyway, I'm gonna go escape to playing computer games now till I can no longer think...no longer feel.
You wouldn't believe how far technology has come.  It's so very bittersweet.

That's is for now my love.   I love you.  I hate you.   I miss you.  I need you.

Your number one fan,
Nancy Hannah Davis (Kessler....god I hope you were at our wedding)