In 2013 I was diagnosed with cancer, lymphoma. During the chemo I was afflicted with an intravenous staph infection that nearly killed me, and phlebitis. I was hospitalized and had two surgeries that weren't, altogether, successful. My wife saved my life during this event. The staph came very close to killing me, and she believed I was more sick than just chemo aftermath sick.
In 2014 I beat cancer. It was odd though, my flesh was exhausted, and my outlook, which had been warrior-like, didn't change upon beating the cancer. In May I was finished with the treatments. But in August I learned that a person I love deeply committed suicide. Along with a number of people who chose to attack me now that I was "healed" or safe to fight with, I went into a deep deep depression that was perhaps the worst I ever experienced.
I was trapped by illness. I was scourged by sorrow. I was wounded by life. I was limited by fear. But now, the gate is open, and I've escaped. And no one is taking me back in.
Who am I now? One month from 2016? I don't altogether know. I know who I won't work with, that list has one person on it. I know I need to finish 4 big projects soon, despite distant deadlines, the co-creatives are all handing in their work. I hate being the slacker. My writing is improving, I promise. Writing is my love, along with family, friends and my beloved cats, Sophia and the brilliant ninja cat Katya.