The refusal of friends to face my health situation always brought about a keen sense of frustration on my behalf, modified to a certain extent by pity. It is impossible to attain any depth in such relationships, since continual avoidance of reality cannot be upheld. One such relationship, in which a friend would not acknowledge the presence of my illness, was eventually transformed into a virtual charade. Conversations revolved solely around trivial matters or reminiscent revelries. Discussions of the present surrounded her doings only, for the least hint of my illness would leave the conversation stunted. Because I never cared to dwell on my ill health, any remark was of the passing sort, yet even these seemed too much for her to abide. It was as if the pre-cancerous person was the only "me" which existed for her; my entire self was no longer acceptable. As no change occurred, our rendezvous became less and less frequent, and eventually subsided altogether. I felt uncomfortable having to hide behind a mask of my former health for my company to be tolerable; it was better to be alone. Friendship must be built upon honesty if its true potential is to be realized. Frustrating to a lesser degree were those who could withstand a cursory mentioning of my illness, but would then perform a mental backflip and begin discussing another topic as if I had no problem at all. It seemed that their understanding of my health condition was not congruent with the activities which they considered me capable of negotiating. Stifling an open-mouthed, incredulous stare, I would then attempt to explain that I was unfit for that particular suggestion, but perhaps we could find a mutually agreeable alternative. I always tried to coax one's realization of my health situation, rather than attempting to "cram" the truth down uncooperative throats. It is so difficult for society to abide the thought of terminal illness and death, especially in those we love, and therefore it is often ignored in a conscious effort to prove its nonexistence. Though it is natural to attempt to flee that which seeks to invade one's happiness, running, unfortunately, shall not make the menace disappear; the young are not the only group of people who, when faced with the illness of a loved-one or friend, search desperately for their "running shoes." While the voicing of feelings is very difficult, it can bring peace of immeasurable degree to yield to their expression; after a loved one dies, one can no longer deny that he was terminally ill, and is left to cope not only with the disease, but with its ultimate effect. Where there might have been memories of a loving farewell, there is emptiness. Just as spoken words cannot be recalled, words which are left unsaid are merely lifeless fragments of conversations which might have been, and forever plague the happiness of the individual who elected silence instead of self-expression.