My posts are full of typos & shit. Every motherfucking one of them.
I had a boob. Two of them, actually. Real boobs that is. Not the implants I;’m currently burdened with.
One was a #badboob and caught two cancer’s – Invasive Ductile Carcinoma and Invasive Lobular Carcinoma I opted for a bilateral mastectomy on 12/23/15 in an effort to avoid this bullshit again with a reoccurrence of breast cancer. While I know cancer can rear its ugly fucking head again, I feel some peace that it will not invade my breasts again. I now have toxic free tits.
Writer I am not.
Editor I need.
Words you will read.
Ladies and gentlemen we need to be in touch with ourselves. We need to stand up for ourselves. Speak for ourselves. If you don’t, there’s not a morherfucker who will.
To those who’ve contacted me & told me how you’ve begun to explore and know yourself and schedule those mammo’s, follow up on unknown bumps, or talk about those demons that plague your brainwaves, etc…. that’s infuckincredible! Keep spreading the word. The world is fucked up. Our air, our people, our food; it’s all polluted. It’s all toxic.
Lastly; all views, opinions, typos and ideas written here and read by your eyeballs are mine and mine alone. However warped, fucked up and if you deem controversial….are mine. If you are the sensitive type or easily triggered, the fuck are you doing here? Seriously? GTFO here. Spoiler Alert: This blog is about breast cancer. I’m going to talk about my breasts.
It’s my hope for my story affect or inspire you. It’s my hope you will contact your doctor. Try to speak your mind to your partner. They see what’s happening to you, but they will never know what’s truly lurking in your mind. Many kind folks have repeated that to me in the past year this blog has helped them in one way or another, not sure if you fuckers are delusional or genuinely speaking. I know many have friends newly diagnosed and this blog is one of the bits information in your google search. My life story is full of fuck ups, erryday; trying to focus on my breast cancer chapter here.
I’m at a point now, especially with Covid wreaking havoc and unraveling our entire existence we’ve worked so hard to concrete and build up – with paper fucking money. Goddamned paper.
Anyway, giving back -> I want to make pillows for comfort. They are darling af. And super comfy. Also, a Badboob Boutique of sorts, but alas my cash flow is not really existing in life. So, if you wanna fund me so I can give back, reach out, or pop some cash in my PayPal -> firstname.lastname@example.org.
Just remember, please remember (as this factoid didn’t really click for me until just recently, and I still don’t feel it. Easier said than done is the old adage) but your thoughts are important. Your feelings are valid. If you feel you’re not getting the emotional support you need, contact your friend, therapist, oncologist — somefuckinbody. Fucking now. They have a staff of medically trained therapists for you. Seriously. Do not feel ashamed. For any of it. If folks are making you question yourself or feel ashamed for how you feel…..tell them to fuck the fuck off. Or you can just quietly exit their life. That shit is toxic. It will eat at your brainholes and destroy any confidence you may have had left after a tit amputation and chemo destroyed your body and mind. If you’re bracca positive, you’ll most likely lose your lady cave equipment to a hysterectomy. It’s all very emotionally taxing. You are not alone. Your spouse is not alone. Please know this. I wish someone had told me this at the beginning of my journey. It would have saved me so fucking much mental turmoil. All the mehs and all.
This is my story.
This is my journey.
These are my words.
This is how breast cancer affected me.