Wait... am I dying?

Beside this, so far seemingly, therapeutic from of catharsis, "the blog", that I have begun, I also have a much more traditional, and less techie, form of therapy... I see a therapist. Which I highly, and constantly, recommend to anyone with any issues! If I had to choose between my two forms of therapy I would choose to sit with a real person and ball my eyes out any day!

That was not always the case. I had a therapist (not by choice) when I was in high school, when I was a "troubled" teenager. Personally, looking back, I think I was just hormonal and angsty, what 16 year old isn't? And the therapy I had then consisted of me sitting and complaining about living with my parents (ironically enough, a topic that comes up a lot in my current therapy) while she sat across from me with a yellow legal notepad, wrote things down, and said " Mm,hum", and "I see", and the biggest cliche one of all time, that I had to stop and look around for the camera, because I thought I was in a movie, "How does that make you feel?"

Now that's not to say I don't think teenagers can't benefit from a good therapist. Just the opposite. I vividly remember that feeling, when something in my life would go wrong, and I could not see past it. The feeling that the world was coming down around me, with no way to recover, no reason to even try to go on. That feeling of complete and utter hopelessness, that I haven't felt that strongly since...not even now, with cancer. And I don't have to tell you there are a number of teenagers that don't see past it, and tragically, find no reason to go on.

One of the topics I've talked with my current therapist about is, "What happens at the end?" Not the death itself, the just before death... the dying part. Because honestly, that scares me far more than the unknown place I will or won't be going once I'm no longer here.

My grandfather recently passed away. They brought in Hospice for his final weeks. He seemed pretty comfortable, and when it got really close, a syringe full of morphine helped him along his way. Doesn't seem so bad?

But me, the dramatic one, can't help think back to the movies I've seen, picturing myself lying in a bed (and still living in my parents house!) All bald, and sickly looking, with only my mom, and close family there, crying. And I think to myself... that would suck.

One of my fears is having my friends see me like that. My even greater fear is not having any friends come see me at all.

Well recently, actually since I started this blog, I've had a number of friends, some I haven't seen in years, come to see me, others with flights booked, and plans to see more in the works. It's fantastic, I can't hardly stand it! I'm so excited.

But then I stopped and thought... Do they think I'm dying?? Maybe my blog is making this out to seem more serious than it is?? That is when my therapist had to gently remind me, "Kourtney, this is serious."

"Wait... am I dying?"

That question wasn't given an answer, I hope the reason is because there isn't one. But I was reminded of my fears, and it was brought to my attention that right now, at this moment, regardless of the warfare going on inside my body, outwardly I'm happy, vibrant, energetic, vivacious. And isn't this the way I want to see my friends? Hell yeah!