Terminally Yours…

So, I created this community because I realized there really aren’t many spaces for terminally ill people where we’re allowed to just speak honestly without everybody immediately trying to sanitize, redirect, inspire, correct, fix, spiritually coach, or aggressively positivity-bomb us into silence.

This is not a space where you have to perform Inspirational Dying Person™ for the comfort of healthier people.

This is not a space where you have to pretend you’re “fighting” every second of every day just because other people are uncomfortable with the reality that sometimes you’re fucking exhausted.

This is not a space where you have to be grateful for every sunrise while somebody simultaneously ignores your actual needs, treats you like a burden, disappears when you need help, or talks to you like they’re already standing at your funeral eating cucumber sandwiches and sighing dramatically.

And this is definitely not a space where dark humor is treated like a moral failing.

A lot of us are dealing with things people do not understand unless they’ve lived it.

Being terminally ill but “not looking sick enough,” so people question the severity of your illness because you laughed once or wore eyeliner or managed to leave your house that day.

Having everybody and their fucking dog weigh in on your treatment decisions. Whether you should do chemo. Whether you shouldn’t. Whether you’re “giving up.” Whether you’re “being negative.” Whether you’re “not trying hard enough.” Whether you’re “too accepting.” Whether you’re “too angry.”

Meanwhile it’s YOUR body. YOUR suffering. YOUR remaining time.

Some people go through brutal treatments that work.

Some people go through brutal treatments that buy them a little time.

Some people go through brutal treatments that destroy whatever quality of life they had left and still don’t save them.

And somehow everybody except the patient thinks they deserve a vote.

Then there’s the toxic positivity.

Holy fucking shit, the toxic positivity.

The endless “everything happens for a reason,” “stay strong,” “mindset is everything,” “don’t talk like that,” “manifest healing,” “you have to stay positive.”

Sometimes people are not negative.

Sometimes they’re just realistic.

Sometimes they’re grieving in real time.

Sometimes dark humor is the only thing standing between them and completely mentally imploding.

And honestly? Sometimes people are just fucking done.

Not suicidal.

Not dramatic.

Not seeking attention.

Just tired. Deeply, cellularly tired.

A lot of us also end up revisiting old resentments in ways people don’t understand.

People love telling terminally ill people to “let go of the past,” but a diagnosis changes the math on everything.

Maybe you already DID let go of it.

Maybe you already did the therapy, the self-work, the forgiveness, the acceptance.

But then suddenly you find out your time is limited, and now you’re realizing certain people didn’t just waste your time in the abstract. They unknowingly burned years you can never get back. Years that turned out to be some of the last functional years of your life.

And that hits differently.

That doesn’t mean you spend every waking second consumed by hatred. It means reality changes shape after a diagnosis, and people who haven’t experienced that do not get to dictate how you process it.

Another thing nobody talks about enough is hope exhaustion.

Sometimes you get a possible treatment option, a trial, a medication, a test result, a tiny ray of hope.

And people around you get SO excited.

You try not to get too hopeful because you know how often these things fall apart, but everyone else starts emotionally decorating the future before you’ve even gotten through the fucking doorway.

Then it doesn’t pan out.

And now not only are YOU devastated, but you also have to emotionally manage everybody else’s devastation too.

That shit is exhausting.

And then there’s the weird contradiction where people expect you to function normally right up until the second your illness inconveniences them.

Need help lifting something heavy you absolutely should not be carrying? Crickets.

Need practical support? Crickets.

Need consistency? Crickets.

But the second they see you, suddenly it’s sad eyes and soft funeral voices.

“How are we feeling today?”

We?

WE?

Get the fuck out of here.

If you’re going to treat me like a regular person when it comes to responsibilities, bills, labor, errands, and survival, then treat me like a regular person socially too. Don’t vanish when I need actual help and then reappear dressed emotionally like a Victorian widow standing beside my grave.

Anyways.

That’s what this community is for.

Not bitterness for the sake of bitterness.

Not hopelessness.

Not encouraging self-harm.

Not wallowing.

Just honesty.

Dark honesty sometimes. Angry honesty sometimes. Funny honesty sometimes. Exhausted honesty. Gallows humor. Fear. Relief. Survivor’s guilt. Treatment regret. Treatment trauma. Acceptance. Rage. Numbness. Bureaucratic nightmares. Medical PTSD. Weirdly hilarious moments. The absurdity of all of this.

You are allowed to be complicated here.

You are allowed to be scared here.

You are allowed to be resentful, bitter, angry, or whatever the fuck you need to be.

But above all, you are allowed to be terminally ill here in whatever way that looks like, sounds like, or presents like for you.

And if you just read all of that and are finding yourself thinking, “holy shit, finally,” then welcome to r/NotFastEnough.

This is what this place is, and if you’ve been choking on all the same unspoken bullshit, then let it never go unspoken again.

Welcome home.