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Anniversary 2024
a year ago
General
TL;DR for people who don’t want to read a wall of text or read about dark topics:
I’ve been away for personal reasons, but I will be okay.
Now, for those who might want to know what happened to me.
My father died in January 2024. Lung cancer, just like my mother died when I was 13. I was still 30 when he passed. I was an orphan at 30. That’s not fucking normal. For a while, I was able to keep going through the sadness; I was on autopilot, doing all the chores and administrative stuff that needed to be done, and I was doing “alright”, all things considered. Except grief and pain were bubbling inside me, and in June, I broke down. Job was becoming too much for me to handle, art was a struggle, and I would randomly start crying at any point of the day. I needed to stop everything
Now, art always had been a struggle for me. I’ve never truly be happy with my art. Whenever I did a piece I was satisfied with, I sighed of relief, because it meant all that pain had not been in vain. If there are any artists reading this, you may know what I’m describing, but you also know it shouldn’t be like that. “Art is about the journey, not the destination” is something I was saying, but definitely not applying to myself. I was doing art the wrong way. I would have eventually broken down at some point, regardless of my father’s passing.
I still haven’t recovered from his death. The pain is unbearable. I feel I need to explain how the situation made everything worse; I was living with my father, taking care of chores he couldn’t do by himself anymore, when we got the news of his cancer. For 3 years, I did everything I could to make his life easier. He couldn’t do administrative paperwork, he couldn’t keep track of medical appointments or medications he needed to take, and of course he was more tired, so I was basically an in-house nurse. Despite having lost my mother to cancer, I was hopeful, and I had reasons to be. The doctors were amazed by how well my father was doing; the cancer was shrinking consistently, and he was taking chemotherapy like a champion, having little to no side effects. That lasted two and a half year. One day, out of the blues, as I was checking up on him, I couldn’t see him at his desk or in his bed. I was puzzled, those were the only two places he could have been. Then I looked down, and there he was, silently convulsing on the floor, unresponsive. The emergencies came, and save his life. It was epilepsy, caused by a metastasis in his brain. The doctors said he was not going to suffer any consequences from it. To this day, I am haunted by the idea that “It was just me checking in randomly. What could have happened if I was a little to late?”. Yes, even after his death, I am still thinking that.
The bad news started there. Suddenly, the cancer had grown, and his prognosis was now much, much worse. We discussed how to handle having medical equipment at our home, in case things went for the worst, so he could die peacefully in the comfort of his bed. Except it went much, much faster than we could have expected. Only two days later, he spent the day sleeping. “Just the after effects of chemo”, I thought, still optimistic. At diner time, he woke up, and we ate together, as usual. We talked a little, and he was still “there”. The next day he wasn’t. Another full day of sleeping, without drinking. I called the emergencies for the fourth time in a month. He wasn’t himself anymore at this point, even when he was “awake”. At the hospital, the doctor told me the whatever-perfusion they gave him didn’t take, and he was going to die. I can still remember the scene:
“How long does he have?” I asked.
“I don’t know exactly” replied the doctor.
“An estimate?” I ask. “A month? A week? A day? An hour?”
She shook her head to indicate there was no way of knowing.
After three years of fighting, it all went downhill in a month, and two days before she told me that, we were talking like usual.
There are no words to explain how much it hurts. I still think “fuck, I forgot to book the appointment for the radiography” to this fucking day.
The only reason why I was able to keep going till June was the resilience of the auto-pilot mode I was in. But at some point, I needed to confront the sadness that was inside me. I needed to rest, to think, to process everything.
Thankfully, by some miracle, during the very short period of time I was “socially capable”, I met someone. Someone perfect, who understood my pain, and helped me through it. I still can’t believe I met him, and I love him so much. The rapid back and forth between pure happiness and intense sadness were very difficult to handle, making me realize I couldn’t keep going like I was.
Things are still difficult, but I’m slowly getting better. I started coding again, and as you can see, I am drawing again, now with a much better way of approaching art.
I don’t want to make any promise on “regular updates” or anything like that. I’m still healing, and I don’t want to put pressure on myself.
But I will be back.
Sorry for not updating anyone when I suddenly disappeared. Sorry to my friends I’ve neglected during the past few months. I will be back.
I’ve been away for personal reasons, but I will be okay.
Now, for those who might want to know what happened to me.
My father died in January 2024. Lung cancer, just like my mother died when I was 13. I was still 30 when he passed. I was an orphan at 30. That’s not fucking normal. For a while, I was able to keep going through the sadness; I was on autopilot, doing all the chores and administrative stuff that needed to be done, and I was doing “alright”, all things considered. Except grief and pain were bubbling inside me, and in June, I broke down. Job was becoming too much for me to handle, art was a struggle, and I would randomly start crying at any point of the day. I needed to stop everything
Now, art always had been a struggle for me. I’ve never truly be happy with my art. Whenever I did a piece I was satisfied with, I sighed of relief, because it meant all that pain had not been in vain. If there are any artists reading this, you may know what I’m describing, but you also know it shouldn’t be like that. “Art is about the journey, not the destination” is something I was saying, but definitely not applying to myself. I was doing art the wrong way. I would have eventually broken down at some point, regardless of my father’s passing.
I still haven’t recovered from his death. The pain is unbearable. I feel I need to explain how the situation made everything worse; I was living with my father, taking care of chores he couldn’t do by himself anymore, when we got the news of his cancer. For 3 years, I did everything I could to make his life easier. He couldn’t do administrative paperwork, he couldn’t keep track of medical appointments or medications he needed to take, and of course he was more tired, so I was basically an in-house nurse. Despite having lost my mother to cancer, I was hopeful, and I had reasons to be. The doctors were amazed by how well my father was doing; the cancer was shrinking consistently, and he was taking chemotherapy like a champion, having little to no side effects. That lasted two and a half year. One day, out of the blues, as I was checking up on him, I couldn’t see him at his desk or in his bed. I was puzzled, those were the only two places he could have been. Then I looked down, and there he was, silently convulsing on the floor, unresponsive. The emergencies came, and save his life. It was epilepsy, caused by a metastasis in his brain. The doctors said he was not going to suffer any consequences from it. To this day, I am haunted by the idea that “It was just me checking in randomly. What could have happened if I was a little to late?”. Yes, even after his death, I am still thinking that.
The bad news started there. Suddenly, the cancer had grown, and his prognosis was now much, much worse. We discussed how to handle having medical equipment at our home, in case things went for the worst, so he could die peacefully in the comfort of his bed. Except it went much, much faster than we could have expected. Only two days later, he spent the day sleeping. “Just the after effects of chemo”, I thought, still optimistic. At diner time, he woke up, and we ate together, as usual. We talked a little, and he was still “there”. The next day he wasn’t. Another full day of sleeping, without drinking. I called the emergencies for the fourth time in a month. He wasn’t himself anymore at this point, even when he was “awake”. At the hospital, the doctor told me the whatever-perfusion they gave him didn’t take, and he was going to die. I can still remember the scene:
“How long does he have?” I asked.
“I don’t know exactly” replied the doctor.
“An estimate?” I ask. “A month? A week? A day? An hour?”
She shook her head to indicate there was no way of knowing.
After three years of fighting, it all went downhill in a month, and two days before she told me that, we were talking like usual.
There are no words to explain how much it hurts. I still think “fuck, I forgot to book the appointment for the radiography” to this fucking day.
The only reason why I was able to keep going till June was the resilience of the auto-pilot mode I was in. But at some point, I needed to confront the sadness that was inside me. I needed to rest, to think, to process everything.
Thankfully, by some miracle, during the very short period of time I was “socially capable”, I met someone. Someone perfect, who understood my pain, and helped me through it. I still can’t believe I met him, and I love him so much. The rapid back and forth between pure happiness and intense sadness were very difficult to handle, making me realize I couldn’t keep going like I was.
Things are still difficult, but I’m slowly getting better. I started coding again, and as you can see, I am drawing again, now with a much better way of approaching art.
I don’t want to make any promise on “regular updates” or anything like that. I’m still healing, and I don’t want to put pressure on myself.
But I will be back.
Sorry for not updating anyone when I suddenly disappeared. Sorry to my friends I’ve neglected during the past few months. I will be back.
/me offers hugs.