I stumbled upon Kelly Bergin's blog "The Adventures and Misadventures of One Miss Kelly P. Bergin" about a month ago through a mutual friend on Twitter. The first post I read was "How I'm in the Hospital Again, Part One" and I immediately fell in love with this girl's sense of humor, desire to plow through her trials and her amazing way of putting her life into words that make you feel and understand as best as you possibly can without living it yourself. I emailed Kelly right away and asked her if she'd be willing to do a guest post, she wrote back almost instantly, from her hospital bed, and agreed to write up a special post. Kelly is a Cancer Survivor and a Lupus Trooper and an all around awe inspiring gal. I promise if you read her blog she'll have you laughing, crying and grateful to be alive. Thank you Kelly for being a guest, your stories are always welcome here:)
I want to go skydiving.
Have you ever been skydiving?
I want to fling myself from the sky.
I know I'd survive. I'm not scared of that.
I want to go on safari.
Have you ever been on safari?
I'm sure I'd see some awesome creatures and take some neat pics, but the animals would probably snuff out the bag of Honey Nut Cheerios I keep on my person for snacking (like a toddler) and take a chomp out of Bergin.
I might turn into brunch for the brutes but--I would probably survive.
I want to do these things. I want to live life in the extreme.
I want to work hard. Eat lobster till I puke. Drink vodka and swim in the ocean at 4 am. Run for six miles without breaking a sweat. Write for twenty-four hours straight. Drink coffee!
I want to fight. Battle. Hard. Against lupus. Against cancer. Against the odds.
I want to get drunk and forget that this is my life. I want to stay sober, write and remember.
I want to live past the boundaries of illness and time. Swim where no lifeguards sit.
I want to do everything and then nothing. Nothing and then everything.
But, as I age (six months until twenty-five), I find the resistance band is pulling. I have to choose now. I have to decide which way to go.
Fuck it all. Or be better.
And I think that to choose would be more extreme than every other thing on my list.
So I say "I don't know. Wait. Give me some time. I'm young. I'm FINE."
But I’m not fine. I’m in and out of hospitals and beds and bars and dreams. I am happy. I am wavering. I am unsure.
So maybe I choose this, and maybe I will live like this.
I will do better. Do better a little bit more, every day. Until I don't drink 100 proof vodka and I don't eat McDonald’s and I don't flip out over seemingly insignificant things. Until I can step up on a curb without my body hurting.
And even if that day doesn't come-- even if nothing changes:
I will still try to be better. Until I care less about the stupid stuff that consumes us and more about what matters in life. Passion. Writing. Family. Friends. Doing good things for others.
And swimming in the ocean.
At 4 am.
Not sober. Not drunk.