if a space capsule isn't turned just the right way when it re-enters the atmosphere, it is incinerated. i must not be turned the right way because i am having some trouble with my re-entry.
people tell me i look good. (thanks to my good friend and personal shopper, i believe.) i am not wearing a scarf any more, just going with maybe a half an inch of hair. i have spurts of energy (followed by hidden exhaustion). so people, with the best intentions, assume i am back. even people who know me the best. but don't they know where i've been for the last eight months? i feel like i have been held hostage for eight months and now i have suddenly been thrust back in society. everything has changed and nothing has changed. i am not sure i can do this.
since i stubbornly insisted i did not need a support group during treatment, the social worker suggested that i might want to consider a support group after treatment. she pointed out that during treatment you are surrounded by staff who are sensitive to what you are going through and other women going through the same thing. (you are basically inside the pink tent.) and then--all of a sudden--nothing. kicked out of the pink tent.
now i see what she meant: everyone is happy for you, but no one really understands.
i might consider it. i don't want to be incinerated.