You never truly know how you're going to feel about most things until they actually happen. I mean the big, nasty surprise things--like learning you're literally dying... It turns out I had no idea how I'd feel, even now as I'm feeling it. Now don't run screaming for the social workers. As far as I'm concerned, this detachment is very healthy.
Fuck talk therapy--no offense to my wonderful therapist friends--but who really needs to be talking about this shit?
What I need to do is plan. For the future, which will most surely go on in my absence.