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  • Kathryn Wright

Fake tits and F bombs.

Apparently you can't get a to go box at a black tie event for your leftover food.


I find this highly unfortunate. Adulting is stupid.


...Okay, so I didn't ACTUALLY ask for a to go box FYI. But I wanted to.


It's just that my full/not full/full ratio is highly unpredictable at the moment, and I never know when I'm ACTUALLY going to have an appetite. Last night I didn't. *Insert wahhh emoji here*


Back to the black tie gala thing. I went to a black tie gala. I mean, OBVI...I'm fucking fabulous.


JK. My roommate emceed the event. Aka I went.


...Also, my BEAUTIFUL friend is on the board of the charity.


(Had to throw that in there, b/c I was told last night she reads my blog.)


Jk. I would have said that anyway because she's fucking gorg and badass. Hi Elle. Brunch soon?


Anyways. The eagle has landed. I officially have full confirmation that I am being mocked by the universe. I have an upcoming double mastectomy, and last night...I was surrounded by more fake tits than Dan Bilzerian's instagram.


Or...(playing devil's advocate here)...maybe my luck is turning around? At least I know who to ask for a good plastic surgeon.


Also, I'm writing the beginning of this blog from said charity event. I feel like the weird girl in the corner no one wants to sit with because I'm writing this on the program that was at our table.


...I mean, in my defense, I was writing it on my phone. And it died. Gotta do what you gotta do, right?


#SorryIMNOTSORRY. Jk. Def sorry. Blasting Sasha Fierce while getting ready kills your battery, apparently.


So. Back to the weird girl in the corner thing. There is NOTHING WRONG with being the weird girl in the corner. The world needs more weird. More cool. More awesome. I don't mean like "send me pics of your feet so I can..." (use your imagination here.) GROSS.


But seriously. BE THE WEIRD GIRL IN THE CORNER. GET ALL THE TATTOOS. DYE YOUR HAIR. GET ALL THE PIERCINGS. Be the person that makes the person asking for the manager because they are pissed off over their EXPIRED coupons not being honored uncomfortable.


Although the thing is, I wasn't in the corner. I wasn't alone. I was literally at the front table at a black tie event scribbling this out. People stared. I mean...I would too. This is highly unusual behavior.


...Apparently it's socially acceptable to be on your phone all night, just not writing in your program.


Although, when I put it that way...


...

...

...


...I guess that is weird. IDK.


So yeah. Get the tattoos. Get the piercings. Or don't. Just be you...whatever that means for you.


But most importantly....use the F-bomb. It helps. (Maybe not around your mother, but use it if you want to. If you NEED to.)

Now, this is where this post is about to get FUCKING real. I'm literally pounding my keyboard as I type this. I would like to say I'm channeling the energy of Beyonce/Sasha Fierce, but I'm pretty sure I'm channeling Cardi B or the energy of Rob + Chyna...because this shit is about to get messy.


I am going to provide a few visuals to help make my point.


First, I am going to repost this.




Now, this.



And finally, this.


I really hope anyone reading this has watched Shameless, because I am writing this with the emphasis of Fiona Gallagher screaming "Frank" as she storms through the house.


And no, it's not vodka. It's rage.


It is, however, the same dripping sarcasm and exasperation shown in the GIF's.


Actually, let me be more specific.


If you haven't seen the show Shameless...I would highly suggest watching this 1 minute, 28 second clip.


"Oh, it was just honest feedback."

"Does that mean I have permission to give it back?"



I am fully Fiona Gallagher-ing at the moment.


Let me clarify. I am fully Fiona Gallagher-ing at the FUCKING moment.


Why? Why thank you for asking. Step into The Alibi and let me explain. (Shameless reference. Get with it, people.)


I have been informed that apparently my use of the F bomb...Aka the word FUCK...is going to prevent me from crossing into the golden gates of heaven.


AKA apparently Jesus loves me less because I use the F word.


(Siri, play Jesus Doesn't Love Me Anymore by the Dragonettes.)

AKA I'm getting sent to hell because I say the word FUCK.


Well, the joke's on you. Or me. FYI I'M ALREADY LIVING IN HELL. Every needle prick, every surgery, every diagnosis, every pill, every pain...is keeping me there.


....Excuse me. Living in MOTHER FUCKING hell.


Here's the thing.


Cancer gives you an automatic membership to this... this exclusive club. And the only people that understand what that membership entails, are the people in the club. You might know someone in the club, and think you understand. And in some ways, you do. In many ways, you do. In most ways, you do.


...But fully, you don't.


And I promise I'm not trying to be condescending or patronizing, I apologize if this is coming off that way. But, that's just the way it is. Or at least, that's how *I* see it.


The thing is, everyone is a member of some sort of club.


Hopefully, you are part of the "I DON'T have cancer club."


Unfortunately, that doesn't mean you don't still struggle. That doesn't mean you're not dealing with a sick child, a dying spouse, or an illness of your own. It doesn't mean you're not struggling to pay your bills, dealing with problems at work, problems at home, or immune from all the shitty things life can throw at you.


Because unfortunately, being human means we're all going to be affected by something.


It just means you don't have cancer.


"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words may never hurt me."


Because a word is just a word, right?


Words are just words.


Words are just letters.


WRONG.


Words have meaning.


And hearing you have the "C" word changes things. It changes everything.


Because, the life that was once your own, isn't. The body that was once your own, isn't.


I suppose that happens with the whole r word too. Rape.


And now that we're bouncing our way through the alphabet, we arrive at our destination. The letter F.


The F word.


THE F word.


F U C K.

.

For those of you who know me, for those of you who don't know me anymore, and for those of you who don't know me at all, I'm going to do a quick summary of my life. I was a perfect kid. Daddy's girl, mommy's girl, church girl, good girl. I got in trouble exactly twice in school from kindergarten to graduating high school. I had to "pull a card" in elementary school because I was laughing too hard with my best friend and we were "being disruptive."


...This happened in middle school too, but we didn't get in trouble. Thankfully we had a really cool science teacher (Mr. Buletti, the real MVP) who told us to leave to go check on the "rain gauge" levels.


We laughed even harder outside. I miss those days.


In high school our teachers just gave up and accepted the consequences of us sitting together, or made sure we didn't sit near one another.


The second time was when "I mouthed off" to our long-term substitute teacher in high school. Trust me when I say, he was an ass. I whispered something to one of my friends, and he asked if I would like to share what I said with the rest of the class. "OBVIOUSLY NOT. OTHERWISE I WOULD HAVE SAID IT OUT LOUD."


There might have been other incidents (that I honest to god can't remember), but no other official "write ups." I did dance. Piano. I was VP in 5th grade. In high school I took all the AP classes (aside from AP chem...KILL ME NOW). My favorite night of the week was Thursday, when I got to see all my closest friends at youth group. I did all the extra curriculars. I was a "drama geek." (STILL AM, AND PROUD). I graduated with a 4.3 GPA. I got straight A's. I got into a prestigious college with early admission. I went to college and excelled.


I loved my friends. I loved my life.


And then, as they say, all good things come to an end.


I met a guy. And everything changed.


Don't get me wrong, I still loved my friends.


...Just not my life.


I mean, I did at first.


I'm going to make this part super quick because even writing this is difficult and I'm crying as I think about this. Let's just say having the kind of freedom that moving to a different town provides, while naively thinking your in love, and then realizing that person you are in love with is a sociopath aka you are dealing with multi-level manipulation...is not a good combination.


Then I'm walking home one night, and the worst thing that can happen to a woman, no...to a human being, to ANY human being, happens to me. I was raped. And it was bad.


And because my coping mechanism for things was NOT coping with things (partially me, partially because of my ex) I buried my pain. I buried my grief. I didn't talk about it.


I couldn't talk about it.


So, I coped. "Coping mechanisms" I think they call them. I drank, I partied, I did things to bury my pain.


Then, I found someone who made me see the light.


I was happy, I was whole, my world was complete. I was so fucking happy.


And then, on the drive up to visit me...a drunk driver driving a semi crossed over the line...into the wrong lane. Let's just say the details of this accident are something I wouldn't even wish on the enemy of my worst enemy.


AKA more coping. More burying. More pretending I wasn't in pain.


I smiled. I laughed. I faked my way through life. Looking back, it's so ironic. Because it's so obvious that the only person I was fooling into believing that I was okay...was myself.


And then? The cherry on top.


Cancer.


And I couldn't just have gotten regular cancer. Is there regular cancer? I suppose not. I just mean that I got the kind that sent my PTSD from that night into overdrive.


Honestly, I don't know what's worse. The rape, or the rape kit.


Okay, obviously I do....but you know what I mean. I hate hospitals. I hate doctor offices. And now, that's basically where I live.


So you want to know why I use the F word so much?


Because these are all things I can't change.


I can't change death. I can't change rape. I can't change lost time. I can't change my mistakes. I can't change any of these things.


But I can change my language.


I can control my language.


And with that change, and with that control, I choose to use the word fuck. And every other MOTHERFUCKING expletive I can find.


You want to know why I use the F bomb so much? Why I use the word FUCK so much?


Because right now, that's the only fucking thing I can change. And the only fucking thing I can control.


If that makes you uncomfortable, don't read my blog. It literally has Death Row in the title, and says "all opinions are my own, especially the offensive ones."


I've said this before, but apparently I need to say it again. My words are not a reflection of my parents. My words are not a reflection of how I was raised. They are not a reflection of who I live with. They are not a reflection of anyone or anything but me, and who I am.


And finally, fully, I'm proud of who I am. Its been about 10 years, but I'm fucking proud.


I'm also hurting. So guess what? Using the word FUCK helps me cope with the constant barrage of bullshit I face every day.


I use the word FUCK so much because words have meaning, and every time I use the word FUCK I feel like I'm screaming back at the universe.


I use the word FUCK because I was at a beautiful event last night and I couldn't stop throwing up.


I use the word FUCK because I get self conscious because my hair is falling out.


I use the word FUCK because I get feisty and tell myself I'm fucking fab, even without my hair.


I use the word FUCK because I want to.


I use the word FUCK because I'm in pain 24/7.


I use the word FUCK because I don't want to be medicated 24/7, because all I used to do was self-medicate.


I use the word FUCK because I'm in so much pain that I don't have a choice anymore but to take my meds.


I use the word FUCK because I'm angry.


I use the word FUCK because of lost time.


I use the word FUCK because I'm getting my tits chopped off and getting my body gutted like a fish, with no guarantee of anything good.


I use the word FUCK because I have constant panic attacks.


I use the word FUCK because I finally worked through my past bullshit. I am healed. I am happy.


I put in the emotional work. It worked. It was hard, but it worked. I changed. I cut out toxic friendships. I cut out toxic people. I have a beautiful support system. I am surrounded by beautiful people.


...And now, I have cancer.


So yeah. I use the word fuck.


If there was a worse word, I'd fucking use it. But there's not. So I say fuck.


Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.


FUCK.


Get the fuck over it.


Oh.


Also...FUCK CANCER.


Fuck.

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