To wake up in the morning and take a breath became so much more of a welcome event than one would ever think. If I could survive cancer, I could survive anything. When I was able to say, “I beat cancer,” I quit worrying about the small things. The realization of just how precious the gift of life is became even more evident once I heard the words, “You have stage-three breast cancer.” Aging, living is a blessing, not something to worry about.

I have come to appreciate that fertility is a gift, not a right, even though I’m slightly resentful. When you find out that you’re unable to do the one thing you believe you were put on the planet to do―your God-given right as a woman to bear children. You realize it when you find out you’ll never be able to produce it. Why should I worry over trivial things like that anyway when there’s so much more to regret? I wasn’t even alarmed by the increasing number of grey hairs I’ve accumulated over the years. When was my youth stolen? Did it happen when Christopher turned ten, or did it happen when I first saw my grandchild? Is today just the first day I noticed them? This morning when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see them, but they were there. I look in the mirror at the fine lines that have formed around my mouth and eyes, things I overlooked before but are like flashing lights now. It feels like time has slowed down, but in reality it is moving so fast it sneaks up on me-like a thief in the night. Words I try to escape from as the hours tick by. I secretly pray for the moment I’ll feel nothing because anything is better than this. These thoughts turn my consciousness into an abyss that I can’t escape.

All that remains is blinding rage, anger, bitterness, and hatred. Those thoughts become an unbearable weight, a sickening fog that suffocates me, a stench so bad it chokes all the beauty and joy out of life. Everywhere I look, I see betrayal, and I can’t get his duplicitousness out of my head. While my own memories are like a half-forgotten dream, those moments I imagine are all too vivid. Only vague images of our love and life together remain, but those spectral images are tainted. A pain that erases the joy and closeness we shared, pushing it further and further away, like a mirage-unreal. The love that once was so sure has been replaced by anguish. At least what I imagine the truth to be-those images run continuously through my mind. This unfathomable heartache snuffs out all of my urges toward forgiveness because now I know the truth. I never thought that anything associated with love could be so painful, but love betrayed definitely is. It hurts so badly-the half-truths, the deception, the words I never ever thought I’d use… it all hurts. Our history, our bond, our love, didn’t stop my best friend from lying to me all these years. What’s worse than him lying to me as my husband and the father of my child, my so-called soul mate, is that he lied to me as my friend.

If i break by portia moore