I try to be entirely honest in my online posts. While I don’t talk about every aspect of my life (there’s a reason y’all don’t get pictures of my meals unless I have flavored with Mtn Dew something that should *not* be flavored with Mtn Dew); I am often open about my mental health struggles, my ongoing battle with cancer, self-doubt, obesity, finances, and a number of other topics I know aren’t common fodder when talking about oneself.

This is a conscious decision, for many reasons. I find being open about my struggles a useful therapeutic tool. Writing about my issues is a great way for me to put them in an ordered context within my mind, and gives me a sense of control over them. (The Pen is mightier than the Social Anxiety!) And, more than once, I have had someone share with my that what I wrote on some issue was helpful to them — often someone in a pretty bad place, who could use all the help they could get.

As a result, I’m used to my posts worrying a friend or two when I am in a bad place mentally, physically, or financially. Especially when I make a post while in a pretty bad place myself, and I can’t mentally find a way to add an upbeat closer, or sprinkle some humor throughout. (“Self Awareness and Despair, now with sprinkles! And try our new Existential Dread, in both Chocolate and Spoiled Rotting Apple flavors!”)

But I have apparently, recently, worried a LOT more than 1 or 2 friends. Well, that’s fair, I’m more worried than usual myself. Even without considering issues such as politics, global climate change, total lack of a retirement plan… have a lot of negative pressures on me atm, and many of my coping mechanisms have been curtailed due to my weakened immune system turning me into a shut-in atm.

So, yes, shit sucks. But, let me be clear.

I am not in danger of giving up the fight.

I am absolutely not in danger of self-harm.

I have a vast, strong, wonderful support network, and I will and do lean on it as needed.

I will beat this cancer, and I will continue to create games.

Even when the brain weasels are eating my cognition like pecan brittle, and I am incapable of seeing how any of those are possible, I know that in clearly moments I have decided they are. No matter how dark things get, I am aware it’s not as bad as it looks. (Okay, bad mixed metaphor — if it’s so farging dark it can’t look THAT bad because I can’t see anything! But you get my point.)

All kind words and well wishing and prayers and ritual sacrifices of fried chicken in a gravy circle of protection are very much appreciated.

And you are welcome to worry. they are your feelings, and they are valid.

But I’ll get through the worst parts of this journey. I may be limping, covered in mosquito bites, dehydrated, and have blisters on my feet, but I will make it through.
…
I may be grumpy about it, though. Where’s my blanket…PS: If you want to help, *and* have the means, you can always donate to my GoFundMe. Every little bit helps.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-owen-kc-stephens-fight-cancer