In sickness
Thor is convinced the blanket on the coach was put there for him to burrow under. I think cats are interesting that way. The blanket was put there because it was still damp after coming out of the dryer, and I didn't have the quarters or the inclination to give it a second run. But Thor, in true feline fashion, believes everything in this apartment was strategically placed there for his pleasure. My guitar case is a scratching post. The vase of flowers on the dinning room table is his own secret garden, and my knife roll is his personal lounge for watching the progress of my dinner. I am of course his version of the Food Network, and he even gets a bite or two if he's really interested. I think cats may be the smartest animals on the planet. They know how to get us to serve them and how to push all the boundaries in just the right way as to leave from the tango unquestioned.
Me, I am still trying to get through the day without being so "dramatic." That's what they call it when you can't hold your emotions together. I go out into public visibly shaken, tripping on my words, unable to smile, and people look at me like there's something wrong with me. When it happens with medical providers, it's ok. You can always explain to the pharmacist, "I actually do need the drugs you are giving me but I am terrified that you're changing the dosage," in short gasps and of course choppy sentences. Do I know if he understood what I was trying to tell him when I explained the history of the pill and I? Hell, no. But the man did a good job of acting like my stammers were intelligent thought. Thanks for letting me leave that one with a morsel of my dignity intact.
It gets more difficult when I go into Great Harvest to get some breakfast because I am trying to force myself to eat, and I am just feeling like crying. I wish I had a poker face. Or a vapid stare maybe? Anything but the, "I am not having a great morning....can I have the marionberry scone? I'm sorry; I am trying not to cry." Because the moment those words leave my mouth, I watch their faces fall. They desperately want to comfort me. They try to think of anything at all to talk about to get my mind onto happier things. And really, I am grateful. I just wish I could do that for myself instead of watching someone at Great Harvest struggle with the challenge.
And then there was the night I called my friend, because I had to do homework, and I was going to be a ball of tears on the floor if someone didn't talk to me fast. So I cried a little and tried to laugh at myself. He settled me down enough for me to emerge into the world, go to a coffee shop, and order a tea after being handed a bar menu. I told the barista my mood was in the toilet and I couldn't have alcohol. She suggested the tea. The young man who worked there was putting law books on the wall and old magazines, and he told me he was proud of me for finishing my homework. And that was all I needed that night.
But I do worry. What happens if I get really sick and can't take care of myself? What happens if I can't hold it all together? Who will take care of me? Thor won't. I mean, he gets me up out of bed and makes sure I eat and keeps me company, but his idea of getting pills is playing with the pill bottle on the floor. He can't go grocery shopping or cook or anything like that. And maybe I am just over reacting and planning for some eventuality that will never happen, but lately I am so afraid that I am going to crack all over the place and there won't be anything left. (And these are my mild thoughts, you know the scarier ones are in the journal that you aren't allowed to read because it's too personal. I know you're shocked right now.)
I have been taking care of everyone and everything for most of my life. I don't know who takes care of me besides a handful of friends and the help around town. So, yeah, maybe it's time to rethink that whole fiercely independent thing. But I swear, I only do it because I don't like it when their faces twist with pity. The mouth falls a bit, there's a deepening of the eyes. The voice grows soft, and they lean forward, as if to soften the blow or try to hug you without really hugging you. I never want it to be someone else's fault for how I feel, or someone else's responsibility to make me feel better. I guess I just want to know that someone will be there to pick up the pieces if the vase of my universe cracks and the glass, water, and flowers go flying everywhere. I think that's what the whole, "In sickness and in health," thing means. Everyone takes that vow when they're healthy. But what happens if you're already sick? Who will love you that much then?
Me, I am still trying to get through the day without being so "dramatic." That's what they call it when you can't hold your emotions together. I go out into public visibly shaken, tripping on my words, unable to smile, and people look at me like there's something wrong with me. When it happens with medical providers, it's ok. You can always explain to the pharmacist, "I actually do need the drugs you are giving me but I am terrified that you're changing the dosage," in short gasps and of course choppy sentences. Do I know if he understood what I was trying to tell him when I explained the history of the pill and I? Hell, no. But the man did a good job of acting like my stammers were intelligent thought. Thanks for letting me leave that one with a morsel of my dignity intact.
It gets more difficult when I go into Great Harvest to get some breakfast because I am trying to force myself to eat, and I am just feeling like crying. I wish I had a poker face. Or a vapid stare maybe? Anything but the, "I am not having a great morning....can I have the marionberry scone? I'm sorry; I am trying not to cry." Because the moment those words leave my mouth, I watch their faces fall. They desperately want to comfort me. They try to think of anything at all to talk about to get my mind onto happier things. And really, I am grateful. I just wish I could do that for myself instead of watching someone at Great Harvest struggle with the challenge.
And then there was the night I called my friend, because I had to do homework, and I was going to be a ball of tears on the floor if someone didn't talk to me fast. So I cried a little and tried to laugh at myself. He settled me down enough for me to emerge into the world, go to a coffee shop, and order a tea after being handed a bar menu. I told the barista my mood was in the toilet and I couldn't have alcohol. She suggested the tea. The young man who worked there was putting law books on the wall and old magazines, and he told me he was proud of me for finishing my homework. And that was all I needed that night.
But I do worry. What happens if I get really sick and can't take care of myself? What happens if I can't hold it all together? Who will take care of me? Thor won't. I mean, he gets me up out of bed and makes sure I eat and keeps me company, but his idea of getting pills is playing with the pill bottle on the floor. He can't go grocery shopping or cook or anything like that. And maybe I am just over reacting and planning for some eventuality that will never happen, but lately I am so afraid that I am going to crack all over the place and there won't be anything left. (And these are my mild thoughts, you know the scarier ones are in the journal that you aren't allowed to read because it's too personal. I know you're shocked right now.)
I have been taking care of everyone and everything for most of my life. I don't know who takes care of me besides a handful of friends and the help around town. So, yeah, maybe it's time to rethink that whole fiercely independent thing. But I swear, I only do it because I don't like it when their faces twist with pity. The mouth falls a bit, there's a deepening of the eyes. The voice grows soft, and they lean forward, as if to soften the blow or try to hug you without really hugging you. I never want it to be someone else's fault for how I feel, or someone else's responsibility to make me feel better. I guess I just want to know that someone will be there to pick up the pieces if the vase of my universe cracks and the glass, water, and flowers go flying everywhere. I think that's what the whole, "In sickness and in health," thing means. Everyone takes that vow when they're healthy. But what happens if you're already sick? Who will love you that much then?
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