Ramblings of a Brain Cancer Insomniac

It is 11 p.m. on a Thursday, and I have been exhausted all day, with thoughts racing through my mind. I have always had a busy mind, and I have dealt with a bit of insomnia over the years, but I could usually calm it with some exercise, a cup of tea, and deep breathing. Since my diagnosis, though, it is becoming harder and harder to find that sense of relaxation.

Right now, I am sipping an amazing organic nettle tea I picked up with my parents on the Mendocino Coast, sweetened with a bit of Manuka honey, while listening to my Calm app with my Beats. But my mind is still racing—filled with memories of the past, recent moments, and all the fears and anxieties that have built up in me since November.

Writing has become a real comfort for me lately. I think part of it comes from knowing that someone out there might be reading my experiences and finding something relatable in these words. I have come to realize that cancer, any type of cancer, is a kind of grief. Some people refer to it as "preparatory grief," as we come to terms with the reality that our lives might end sooner than we planned. But for me, it is not that simple. I do not really grieve that anymore. What I grieve is my old life and how this stupid disease has changed me. Some of the changes are positive, like the heightened awareness I have gained since my diagnosis. But some of it is just... awful.

Looking back, I realize that we all have our struggles, our restless nights. It is all about how we learn to cope with them. Maybe it is walking, writing, reading, drinking a gallon of tension tamer tea, Sleepytime, or a fancy loose leaf blend like I prefer—but we all have our own ways of managing. For me, it has become this blog. And tonight, it seems like writing has done the trick. Maybe it is the tea, or maybe it is the thimble-sized shot of Johnny Walker Black I added to my tea, but I am finally feeling sleepy. Good night.