I had a little meltdown two days ago. Well not really a meltdown but a little emotional dumping of stuff. All over my girlfriends. My family and B. Mostly to do with my inability to move. My desire to get up and go has got up and gone. And I just can’t fucking find it. And then lots of other stuff too that I thought I had so dealt with but um clearly not. I am not perfect. I know you know it. And I know it. But I have to be. I know I don’t really. But its what I do.   I’ve been the perfect cancer survivor. The example of how to be. The person friends say, don’t worry look at Lianne, she’s survived. And look I mean really look how well I’ve handled my third recurrence too. Look at me. But actually don’t. Because then you’ll see how less than perfect I am. How scared I am. How I’ve never really known how to be. How being perfect is how I hide the imperfection that is my fear. My truth. And all our realities. Beause we are all imperfect. Which is just beautifully perfect. Anyway. I don’t know how to be perfect at this new phase. And I don’t like this feeling. I don’t like it. Not one bit. I don’t like how I feel. I don’t like how I think. I don’t like how I look. I don’t like feeling so frustrated by it all. I don’t like how its all changed. I don’t like feeling like it was a lie. I don’t like not being a survivor. And yet I always hated that word.  I don’t like it one little bit that its owning me. I don’t know how to be me right now. I don’t like feeling so self pitying and self indulgent. Me me me.  I know how damn lucky I am. And I am so very grateful for it all. And I know its all to be expected, and all in the realm of normal for what is my new normal. Thank fuck for my friends, family and B for allowing me to spew. For loving my imperfections,  because they all know what a fuck up I really am.  We all are. For knowing I’m really not dealing well with this. How I’m struggling knowing what I thought was, never was. How dark it is in my head sometimes. But dumping keeps it real. Sharing lets me see what I think. And gain perspective. And perspective is a beautful thing. And yes I am perfect. Perfectly imperfect. Or imperfectly perfect. Oh fuck who cares, i just want to get up and go.