Help, There's a Monster Trying To Kill Me
If he gets through the door, I will die.
For the first ten years of remission, hearing someone say the word '“cancer” was enough to trigger anxiety alarms in my brain.
That makes my life as a leukemia survivor like the Disney film Inside Out 2, but instead of a $1.69 billion box office, I feel like I could cry on a train.
It’s been a process, but I’m getting better.
If you feel frustrated by any ongoing challenge in your life, here’s my two cents.
How I got here.
It’s 10:15am, there’s a big gum tree outside my window, and I’m at work.
I work from home, so I’m also at home. This blurred line is best approached with a prescription from your local optometrist.
In another life, I worked at a marketing agency above a Domino's pizza chain (that’s just an expression; it was the same life).
And if you think for a second that the wafting scent of fresh pepperoni pizza could only be a distraction… congratulations, you’re very perceptive. It was.
Some days, I’d hope for a workplace accident to shut the place down so I could get some work done. Would it kill someone to fall headfirst into a pizza oven and trigger an OH&S investigation? (probably, yes).
This job was my first experience in an agency setting, and lacking real-world experience, I was expecting something resembling AMC’s hit TV show, Mad Men (2007 - 2015).
I’m talking whiskey at every meeting, pitching slogans to cigarette companies, casual adultery—that type of thing.
Instead, there were tons of customer complaints, a rotating workforce of disgruntled staff, and the odd pizza party to keep morale from flagging.
At least the pizza always arrived hot and fresh. Every pepperoni has a silver lining, I suppose.
The chaos of that agency and the peacefulness of working from home are worlds apart.
The only connecting thread is a tightness in my chest, a pounding heart, and the feeling of losing control. My head spins. Air escapes my lungs but won’t go back in.
Whether I’m surrounded by colleagues or sitting on my own in a quiet room, it feels like my cancer is back… and I am about to die.
“Cancer”
I ran from that word like I was the reigning, defending Hide-and-Seek World Champion.
My logic was that I wouldn't feel anxious if I didn’t hear that word, and I spent a full decade trying to outwait and ignore it. It was like I was trying to win a game of chicken by doing nothing and assuming my problems would disappear.
They didn’t.
An estimated 1 in 3 adults will experience an anxiety disorder during their lifetime. I’m guessing the rest were too anxious to pick up the phone and participate in the survey.
If you’re someone who deals with anxiety in any form, you might have used tactics similar to mine.
Distraction. Avoidance. Denial.
These are excellent ways to deal with street fundraisers who wave at you and ask if you’d like to donate money to send an orphan orangutan to school — but they are terrible ways to deal with anxiety.
The waiting game doesn’t end well. It’s like playing Monopoly and thinking everything is OK until you land on a hotel on Mayfair, and everything is fucked, you don’t have the resources you need, and everyone seems to be having fun but you.
The longer I avoided that word, the more force came crashing down when it found me— and it always did.
Sometimes, it snuck in through a movie scene before I could grab the remote. Other times, it hid inside a well-meaning question about my health. Mostly, it came from me, sneaking up via my subconscious like a lioness about to disembowel an antelope.
No matter what I did, I couldn’t escape that word.
You cannot hide from yourself.
At some level, you’re doing the same thing I was.
Running away.
Whatever you’re avoiding — whether it’s a label, memory, word or something else you feel like you can’t face — you’ll do almost anything to escape. I’ve been there. I know what that pressure is like.
It feels like there’s a monster pounding at the door, and your life depends on keeping them out. Every day starts by throwing your full weight against the door frame, your strength sapped through an endless fight until sleep comes, with no guarantee the monster won’t find you in your dreams.
That’s an exhausting way to live your life.
When you’re using all your energy to fight monsters, there’s almost nothing left to give to the things that matter.
I can’t focus on work… there’s a monster at the door.
I can’t be a better partner, sibling, or friend… there’s a monster at the door.
I can’t enjoy my second chance at life as a cancer survivor… there’s a monster at the door.
Damn, there’s that word again. It found me. It always does.
Try this to make peace with yourself.
A decade after my seven months of chemotherapy ended, I realised that ignoring my problems wasn’t making them go away.
The truth I had been unwilling to face was that I was terrified of relapsing. Terrified of losing everything I’d worked to rebuild after cancer lit flames that engulfed my life.
For so long, I’d refused to let those fears into my head — to the point I was policing other people’s language and demanding they avoid saying “cancer” around me.
After ten years of panic attacks, therapy, stress leave from work and mental exhaustion, I knew I had to change. When I pulled at that thread, I realised I had to make peace with my enemy to be at peace with myself.
If you can relate to the endless, exhausting fight with a monster in your life, here’s my heartfelt suggestion.
Ready?
Let the monster in.
As terrifying as it seems, there’s freedom in finally stepping back and leaving the door unguarded. When you do this, you’ll discover new energy that is better spent in other areas of your life. Energy that’s no longer being used to fight monsters.
You’ll also learn that the monster on the other side of the door isn’t exactly what you thought. It might still be big and scary and have scorched a black mark on your soul, but it’s not here to devour you — because it’s a part of you.
Pretending I wasn’t gripped with fear about getting cancer again didn’t make my life easier. Hiding behind that mask only obstructed my vision and forced me to stumble through life when everyone else was striding forward.
It took me ten years to learn I wasn’t running from a word. I was running from crippling health anxiety that left me living in a colourless world.
After an exhausting struggle, it was clear the monster behind the door wasn’t something I could escape from… because it was me.
“Worry often gives a small thing a great shadow”
— Unknown
You deserve peace.
Forcing yourself to deny the monster is denying something you feel—it’s denying who you are. This rejection of yourself creates friction, and when you open the door, you remove some of that built-up pressure.
Letting the monster in didn’t magically heal my health anxiety, and it was never going to. Honestly, it won’t do the same for you, either.
Acceptance isn’t the final step in removing the obstacles in your life; it’s the first step in learning how to live despite them.
When you let the monster in — whatever it looks like — you’ll learn that you’re more in control of your feelings than you thought, and that’s often the first step in managing them.
You don’t have to love what you’ve been running from. You don’t have to tell anyone about what you’ve been fighting. And you certainly don’t have to pretend it’s a blessing in disguise — but stop ignoring it.
Every monster is scarier when you can’t see it. Opening the door means finally accepting who you are. Once you’ve done that, you can take the first step towards who you want to be.
I still don’t like the word “cancer”, but I’m OK hearing it now.
Sitting in my home office, the big gum tree outside my window sways in the breeze. My chest is tight, but if the leaves on the tree are swirling in the wind, I’m sure I’ll have my fill of air soon, too.
I’m not exhausted anymore. That fight is over.
The monster is with me now, on this side of the door, and we’ll figure out the rest together.
With love,
New World Porter
P.S. If you enjoyed this post, please leave a Like or Comment with the button below (takes 0.46 seconds) so I can think terribly filthy thoughts about you. 👇
I let my monster sleep under the bed with my favorite blankie, except when its cold.
PTSD is my monster. Thanks for your perspective. I let mine in 5 years ago. Almost killed myself in the process. I don't think the monsters WANT to win. They WANT to be known so we can befriend them.