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" Ever since I told Brandon about my mother&amp;#039;s breast cancer, he&amp;#039;s been watching me with concern, like he&amp;#039;s waiting for me to crack or something. I have so many emotions going on -- anger, fear, guilt, sadness and disappointment, just to name a few -- that I don&amp;#039;t even know where to begin in terms of processing them. Whenever I start to think about it, I just want to cover my ears and yell &amp;quot;la la la la la&amp;quot; at the top of my lungs.  So let&amp;#039;s start with the anger. Obviously, I&amp;#039;m angry at my mother (and my father) for not telling me and Little Brother. I feel like we have a right to know, first of all.  Second of all, this is particularly something I need to know, as this puts me at a higher risk for breast cancer. There&amp;#039;s a reason you have to put the rest of your family&amp;#039;s illnesses on a medical history form -- it&amp;#039;s important. That&amp;#039;s where part of the fear comes in, and the rest of it is being afraid that she&amp;#039;s going to get sick again.   Then there&amp;#039;s the disappointment that my mother had to have something this life-altering happen to her to realize how much she cares about her family, and then the fact that I even feel that way makes me feel guilty.  So I&amp;#039;m trying not to constantly think about all this, but Brandon obviously wants me to because he doesn&amp;#039;t want me to keep everything all bottled up inside. But I just feel like if I start talking about it, it&amp;#039;s going to open up this big floodgate of ugly emotions. I sometimes wish I could be like LB. He picks one emotion (usually anger) and sticks with it with a fierce intensity until he burns out. Then he just picks up where he left off before he got so angry. It just seems so much easier.  After dinner tonight, we were sitting around watching TV and a PSA came on about getting screened for breast cancer. Brandon turned to me with that searching look, trying to gauge my reaction. I didn&amp;#039;t give him one.  &amp;quot;Do you do those breast self-exams?&amp;quot; he asked tentatively.  &amp;quot;When I remember,&amp;quot; I said, not looking at him. &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re supposed to do it like a week after your period.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;How often do you remember?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Probably not as often as I should,&amp;quot; I said quickly. &amp;quot;Can we talk about something else?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;K., you aren&amp;#039;t dealing with this at all.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I will.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;When?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;When I&amp;#039;m ready to, okay?&amp;quot; I half-yelled, finally looking at him.  He looked away, hurt.  &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m sorry,&amp;quot; I said, reaching over to him. &amp;quot;I just\u2026 I don&amp;#039;t know\u2026 can&amp;#039;t.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;You keep too many things bottled up,&amp;quot; he said. &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s not good for you.&amp;quot;  I nodded, and we sat in awkward silence for awhile. Finally, Brandon pulled me into his arms and we lay back on the couch. Before I even realized it, I was crying -- big, loud, messy sobs. He didn&amp;#039;t say anything -- just stroked my hair and let me cry.  I guess my mom isn&amp;#039;t the only one in the family that has a hard time expressing herself. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a8055/bedroom-blog-042209/>