It's been a couple of days since I first received the news that I was hoping I'd never get, yet knew was to come. I cannot say I've come to accept the reality totally, but I am in no way in any form of denial.
The shock of the moment is merely wearing off, and I'm awakening to the somber truth of the matter: I'm dying.
I knew intellectually this was to happen at some point, as I knew this next phase was to come as well... The blame phase.
I find myself today almost totally obsessed with finding the fork in the road in my life where I took the wrong turn which lead to the path.
What did I do wrong?
Could this fate have been avoided? Should I have done or possibly NOT done something in particular? Would have anything made a difference?
Maybe if I had not waited so long before seeking medical attention for a seemingly unrelated event, this outcome could have been different.
Perhaps if I had been stronger in my convictions regarding my actions in my youth, I would not be here today.
Or was it really just genetics?
It's game I cannot hope to win, this so called blame game. Yet, I can't help but invest myself in it when given a moment's silence.
I really don't want to die blaming myself, and harboring ill will towards myself.
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