Hate, actually ✔

Chapter 1

"For the moment, I am
really very, very tired of
everything - more than tired." - Friedrich Nietzsche, Letter to Freiherr Karl von Gersdorff, April 1, 1874

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My best friend Lauren is too pure of a soul for this cruel world. She thinks she can mend all my unrealistically difficult problems and the rest of the human race's combined.

"We're not doing this again. And besides, she's refusing treatment." I shrug, stirring my cappuccino.

We are currently seated in our favorite cafe when I finally decide to break the news to her.

I haven't seen her in months - almost a year. She went on some backpacking trip across Europe with her boyfriend. I wasn't going to call and ruin her vacation with the bad news. It didn't feel right when I mulled it over.

My mom has been re-diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. A month ago. She was first diagnosed when I was eleven, they caught it early and she finally got into remission - three days after my fifteenth birthday.

I considered it a belated birthday present from heaven. Unlike most of my family, I've always believed in a higher power and I said a silent prayer for my her every night.

She went through so many procedures and treatments that we would've been damned if at least one didn't work.

Now about four years later, it's back - and it's worse than ever before. It's spread to her brain and adrenal glands.

We've discussed death before; me and her.

When I was eleven - after her first diagnosis - she made it very clear to me that she might not make it and that life will go on for me either way afterwards.

My eleven year old self thought this was bullshit, of course.

When I reached about twelve and a half years, I came to terms with things and made the most of the time I had 'left' with her.

With an absent psychopath of a father and a terminally ill mother, I was inevitably forced to be mature from a young age.

Maturity is relative, but in retrospect, having tried my utmost best to make my mom's cancer experience a little less hard by accepting the reality of the situation at the tender age of twelve made me somewhat proud of myself. The latter being something I never feel all that often.

I braced myself for her potential death and even after her remission, I didn't dare let out a sigh of relief.

Of course I was beyond elated, but the doctor's words rang true in my head over and over again: 'Remission isn't a definite thing. The cancer could very well come back; but for now enjoy the good news and hopefully good news is what you will continue to get.'

I will forever be grateful to that doctor for his honesty. You'd be surprised at how many doctors have tried to sugarcoat things - especially in front of me at my 'tender age'.

Because of that one truthful doctor, my mom's re-diagnosis was not a punch in the face, it didn't break my heart as much as the first one because I was ready.

And don't get me wrong; it hurt like hell - but I was ready.

Lauren's eyes widen. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't she want treatment?"

"She's tired. Says she felt like she was barely alive during her last one, so she doesn't see the point. The doctor gave her four months tops," I tell her.

"And with treatment? How long will she have with treatment?" Lauren inquires, her voice thick with emotion.

Her reaction is totally understandable - my mom is practically her mom.