Surviving cancer makes me feel I have to prove my life is worthwhile
As someone who survived acute lymphoblastic leukaemia as a child, the consequence of this trauma has unveiled itself in the form of pressure.
Yes, there are some physical and mental scars, but the pressure – to be successful in all and everything that I do – is overwhelming.
It isn’t pressure enforced by family members who lived through the experience with me, but an internal pressure. It’s a voice in the back of my head and my soul saying that I need to give a reason as to why I was one of the lucky ones who survived.
I need to prove myself to life itself.
Some say it sounds silly, dumb or ungrateful but most of these people have, fortunately, never suffered through a serious illness in their lives – and I hope they never will.
However, I have, and having had my illness means that I now can’t give blood, donate my organs or donate marrow (which helped me tremendously) to the sick. This is a consequence of the disease that bothers me an insane amount in my adulthood.
There are many people who refuse to give blood or donate their organs once they pass. This bothers me again, because these are the people are who don’t realise how much it could help, while those who can’t donate are the ones who desperately want to.
It’s an agonising and vicious cycle to think about, so I try not to.
As I’m unable to give back physically, I feel the forceful need to at least prove my right to existence in other ways – whether that means succeeding in the workplace or other personal areas of my life.
For instance, if I go for an interview, there’s a huge amount of pressure on me to get the job because failure isn’t something I can easily accept.
Albeit, no matter who I encounter or what task I do, I still find myself needing to do it at my utter best.
I also feel a need to prove myself to all people I encounter in my life, whether I know them or not. This could be as small as passing by someone on the commute to work and giving them a smile or offering up my seat.
Perhaps this stems from the past, when I was often seen as some kind of fragile being who was somewhat incapable, and different than everyone else, because I had been unwell.
Yet I will never meet most of them and they will never know my story, but for those who do – I want to show them why I’m still here, even if they don’t care, as unkind as that may sound.
And why should they care? I don’t expect them to, because it has no personal relevance to their lives and hopefully, no one will experience this illness.
Albeit, no matter who I encounter or what task I do, I still find myself needing to do it at my utter best.
The aftermath of having the disease as a child has affected my social skills too, and transformed me into an introvert – in comparison to the excited, loud little person that I used to be. It’s also affected my mathematical skills, due to months of missing crucial foundation lessons in school.
Although I can laugh about these struggles now, there’s no doubt in my mind that part of my confidence and how I carry myself in daily life has been shattered.
The label of ‘cancer survivor’ puts an indescribable amount of pressure on me. I associate being a survivor with needing to be successful, because if I’m not, then I haven’t been worthy of surviving in the first place.
Yet I shouldn’t digress from the monumental achievement it is to have fate pick me and allow me to be one of the lucky ones to survive. I’ve lost other family members to cancer, and I know the impact it can have on the wider family to see someone they love deteriorate so quickly.
As someone who has won the battle, I suppose I’m not just proving my existence to myself, but also family, friends, people who don’t even know me and don’t share these experiences, and also to people who do share these experiences.
For everyone who has ever, and might ever, lose somebody they adore, I need to prove that my life from the moment I was cured is worthwhile.
I don’t anticipate this pressure to leave me anytime soon, nor am I willingly trying to change how I feel about my existence.
If anything, it’s a positive – I’m seeing the world through a new set of eyes, ones that have been enlightened and experienced a marvel of trauma early on and that can teach me about my own identity, but also teach me about how I should be treating other people.
It would take a whole new milestone or monumental experience for me to believe I’ve proved myself, but until then, I’m happy to push on through this new journey of life.
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