BREAKING NEWS: I Do Not, In Fact, Hate People

Just to clarify, from my last post. I've just been having a really hard time with the guilt I feel being so appreciative and allowing myself to feel so loved by some people, when other people make me want to check in to the joint under a pseudonym, or take out a restraining order, or both (and I'm only being a weensy bit dramatic). I've been thinking about this a lot, and realized that I actually can deduce two classifications of people/behavior that make me feel the way I wrote about last time:

1)People who make MY being sick/having procedures/being a CFer generally disproportionately about THEM, and/or make me feel like simply having them know and/or care about what's happening with me is WORK. FOR ME, I mean.

For example, the relatives who I only ever see at Christmas, and whose company I enjoy greatly for those few hours once a year, but who call one of my parents, FREAKS OUT, insists on coming to see me in the hospital (despite being told it's not only not necessary, it's not preferable), makes all these grand promises about how we're going to hang out more once I'm out and healthy, and then I'm out and healthy, and....crickets. Even when I extend the invitation, not like I'm just kicking back waiting to be disappointed or anything. So I end up feeling naive and dumb for believing all the hubbub about hanging out if I believe it and follow through, or looking wenchy and cynical if I metaphorically roll my eyes and write it off. But I always end up consoling THEM, and letting them come take their peek at the carny for real-live proof I'm not dying, so they can go back to not feeling guilty about being any closer to me than they are. And truly, they shouldn't. We really DON'T have that much in common, and if it weren't for that whole "diseased" thing, there would really be no pressure to be any closer than our few hours of catch-up and giggles over turkey and pie around Christmas. So seriously, don't feel guilty, don't feel sad, but please don't create mental and emotional work for she-who-is-healing in attempts to assuage your unjustified guilt.

2)...and this is the biggie. PEOPLE WHO PIMP ME AND MY JUICY, DISEASED DETAILS FOR ATTENTION. FOR THEMSELVES. WHEN THEY KNOW I'M WEIRD AND ILLOGICALLY SELECTIVE ABOUT SHARING THE DEETS, SUPPOSEDLY CARE ABOUT ME. I think this is pretty self-explanatory, and going in to any greater detail than can be found in my previous post would a)venture into useless bitchy gossip territory and b) be pretty redundant.

So if you're reading this, and wondering if you are or have overstepped, but all you've done is:

~genuinely inquire as to how I'm doing,

~shoot me a message/wall post/text of encouragement,

~sat in restaurants/wine bars/coffee shops and listened to virtual monologues,

~led me to believe you really, genuinely find me attractive despite this crazy gene thing,

~laughed at my morbid and/or self-depricating jokes (mini-wheats, anyone?)

~offer me honest, legitimate help,

~told me you're pulling for me,

~told me you're praying for me,

~told me you're sending good vibes,

~tell me you've crossed your toes,

~offered me food,

~read my blog and left me a comment (I love comments!)

~read my blog and didn't leave a comment (but you should, see above!)

~read my blog and then filled in people you know, that I know (or my mom or dad knows), that I would want to know about whatever is in the latest chapter of can't-make-this-stuff-up medical drama,

You have not.

The last thing I want is to alienate good-hearted, sick-humored, know-me-and-care folks because I had to blogvomit about categories 1 and 2, before I recognized the cat.1 and cat.2 patterns. It's not that I don't want love, support, and yes, attention (I am an only child, after all) when I feel bad. I just don't want to feel like I have to sensor myself, clean up (my house or myself), or otherwise make things even more complicated in order to feel loved and supported. It's not that I don't want people to know what's going on with me, it's that I want to be JESSICA, mouthy-funny-polo-wearing-cheerwine-drinking-liberal, not that girl who's sick all the time, and therefore must be inspected and leered at like a dung-slinging zoo monkey, then subsequently interrogated about said constant-sickness ad nauseum... or worse, X person's X who's sick all the time, poor poor X!

So friends who are facebooking me into feeling OK about my surgery tomorrow, neighbors who simply make me feel fuzzy neighborly feelings with your offers of help and expressions of good luck, Grammy who's keeping Cooper so I don't have to pay $20/day and can have the peace of mind that he's home and comfy, Auntie and Uncle and WeeOne who have been consistently supportive and are rumored to be bringing me tasty treats when I get home, folks who work with my Dad and have been sending good vibes via dadmail, and my AAA-mazing parents who let me freak out and cry and laugh at my sick jokes and hold my hair while I cough up gross stuff and fight like hell for me and with me and make me feel really, truly O.K. about living at home...still, and generally are at least 37% responsible for everything that's awesome about my life, YOU MATTER. YOU COUNT. YOU ROCK.

And this post was NOT about you. Promise.