When I was looking for the picture of Ozzy and me swimming that I posted yesterday, I found a number of pictures of me with super goofball expressions on my face. Initially, I thought it was just due to how I react to posing for a snap shot--I've never been good at holding still to smile. Which way am I supposed to turn? How much am I supposed to suck in my gut? Do I look constipated when I suck my gut in this much? Then I realized that most of the dingus-face pictures during the time period I was looking at were selfies. I was actually documenting my own ridiculous facial expressions, and it's obvious to me now that I was officially trying to hide my own sadness and anger FROM MYSELF.
The time period in question--as if it's not fucking obvious--are those three years or so between late 2009 when I was I diagnosed with terminal brain cancer and late 2012 when I finally realized that, huh, I was still alive. These photos would make it seem that the only face I could really show myself was one that was above the fear, immune from the anger, not drown by sadness. No deer in the headlights here, only a survivor that laughs in the face of danger, ha! I know me, and perhaps I do laugh in the face of danger, but not until I've cried, yelled, panicked, and cried some more in, at and around the face of danger.
 |
| No tumor can penetrate my snark. |
 |
| Or maybe I was just mad about this stupid haircut? |
No comments:
Post a Comment