Not to get sentimental or anything

But I'm trying to figure out why I got cancer, knowing full well that there isn't a reason. After you see someone pass away from the chemo and cancer eating away at them at 23, you come to accept this. Yet I find myself still looking for a reason sometimes. One oncologist said "You'll come out a stronger person on the other side," in way that made her sound like an old recording playing for the millionth time. She had said this a hundred times, and perhaps she meant it once, I don't know. The point is that, that oncologist doesn't know me, and she doesn't know I needn't become a stronger person, I am a strong person. I was scared once, and that was right before the ambulance took me to the city for my mediastiscopy and biopsy. And I looked at myself in the mirror and looked at my chest, just thinking what the fuck is going on inside of me, I don't know what's going on with my body, whether I am going to live. At that point I realized my reflection was the most unfamiliar thing I have ever seen. I didn't recognize my body anymore, it was officially foreign to me. So I prayed. Believe what you will, but I prayed for peace, to not be scared and I haven't been since. I mean I'm freaking scared of a specific needle which I'll tell you all about, but that's a different story and a different kind of scared. Anyone who knows me, knows I'm strong. They know I can do this just as much as I can, and I don't let them forget it. I'll joke about cancer and I'll spit the word in your face, because like in Harry Potter, only the people who were scared of Voldemort dared not say his name, and Harry wasn't. Neither am I. Cancer, cancer, cancer. Bring it, bitch.

*wrote this in 2014, found in my drafts