Those weren't nightmares, just memories of last night taunting me in my sleep. I open my eyes slowly, soft sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains. I forgot to close the blackout shades before bed. I rub my eyes, trying to clear the lingering fog in my head.
An unpleasant cocktail of emotions swirls inside me: fear that grips my chest like a vice, anger simmering beneath my skin, andpure grief—like a cold hand around my throat. I’m still mourning the loss of the life I had planned. At the same time, a peaceful numbness spreads through me, leaving me feeling detached from myself. A mercy.
It's my thirtieth birthday tomorrow. A whole new decade.
That thought should be exciting, right?
I'm turning thirty! You know,thirty, flirty, and thriving!
Except my ex-fiancé cheated on me.
I have cancer.
I'm losing my hair.
I can’t keep any food down lately.
The skin on my face and body feels irritated and dry.
My mouth is as dry as cotton.
And it's like all of my worst nightmares have come true.
So many people have told me that when they found out I was turning thirty this year, they said,"Your thirties are the best decade of your life."
Leaving behind all the mistakes of your twenties and turning them into lessons. With more experience in your career, you'll usually make more money. Things that once caused crippling anxiety don't really matter that much in your thirties.
Many women told me to cherish this decade, saying they would go back in time to relive it if they could.
"There's just something about your thirties..."
This would be the decade I would always remember, with many milestones to be achieved, many good times to be had, and many moments I know I'll cherish when I'm old and gray.
And, you know what, I can still look at some positive things in my life as I enter this era.
Pros: I'm entering my thirties without my cheating asshole ex. Tess is going to retire soon, and we'll be able to spend more time together. I have friends—honest and true friends—in the book club who seem ready to commit murder for me. I have Maeve, my mysterious, witchy woman who calls medoveand slips crystals into my hands that promote healing and strength. I have this warm, cozy apartment that I truly love.
Above all, I have Callum, who's become my best friend in such a short time.
Callum buys me ice cream and funnel cake if my eyes linger too long at the boardwalk shops. He lets me rant about book heroes who deserve to get kicked in the nuts (he usually agrees). I've known Callum for less than a month, yet I feel I can tell him anything without judgment. He has gone out of his way to care for me—accommodating me in a way no one besides Tess ever has—not even Paul.
Cons: I'm starting my thirties with all my plans gone. I havecancer, and I'm losing my hair from chemo. Soon, I'll have surgery to remove and rebuild my breasts. After that, I'll go through radiation. Then I'll just have to hope that I'm cancer-free and won't need more chemo.
Or worse, I die.
Well, there's really nowhere to go from here but up, right?
Unless I somehow discover a level lower than rock bottom, which I'm not going to challenge the universe to do. Knowing my luck, I'll somehow discoverRock Bottom Deluxe.
To top it all off, there's a pounding in my head...
Wait, no, that's not my head.
That's my front door.
I reach over to my side table to grab my phone, but it’s not there on the charger. It all comes back to me—it’s in my tote bag, still turned off. Stumbling out of bed, I shove my feet into my slippers as the knocking gets louder.
I start toward the door, but freeze suddenly and look down at myself. I'm still in my pajamas—a white tank top and soft pink bottoms I threw on last night after my breakdown in the shower. I had done my nighttime routine almost mindlessly, before crawling under the covers, crying only a little before falling into fitful sleep.
