Some readers of Sublime Mercies have expressed concern about me since I haven't posted anything new lately.
I won't lie. Things have been tough.
People who read my blog tell me I'm "strong" and "amazing" and "brave." Not so much lately.
|I love how Milo likes to reach out with his little paw and touch me and Beau.|
That's been bad enough, but bad went to worse.
About a week ago, the pain killers I was taking started to make me sick. About the same time, I started having body memories and flashbacks to some of the most severe sexual abuse, which only made the nausea worse. Remembering disgusting things that had been done to me, I found it hard to eat. I always do when I'm upset.
Panic attacks followed. I normally have about one panic attack every several months. I had three or four in a week.
Meanwhile, poor Beau got more and more worried about me so his own anxiety levels have been high. There's been some bickering, it's true. He worries about me, I worry about him, we just worry worry worry. Stress grows.
Good things have happened around me but it's been hard to notice. Our rose bush/tree bloomed its first bloom and has since burst forth with probably 100 roses.
I had my head in a bucket.
And I was getting sicker. My stomach got so bad, it became distended and extremely painful. My doctor sent me to the Emergency Room late on Friday night, where I was poked and prodded and pushed and pummelled, and left with yet another set of livid track marks on my arm. The worst part was the CT scan.
It was all very triggering. I've been poked and prodded and pushed and pummelled far too much in my life.
It didn't help that this particular ER was full of drug addicts either having a bad trip or trying to trick the doctors into giving them drugs. Some of the tales I could tell from that night are amusing -- but not right now, not yet.
At least all the tests came back saying what I had already suspected: I was just really sick but not with anything like appendicitis.
So: back home to bed again.
My cat, Bobby, has been a great comfort. Cats like ill people. Ill people lie down a lot, and have heating pads, and that's cuddle heaven for a cat. He's been my constant "lie down" companion since Wednesday, when I got barfy.
But I think it's more than that. The day after I'd been in the hospital, he followed me everywhere, not wanting me out of site or even out of touching range. I think he loves me.
|Sunglasses and gold chain: Vintage; Pendant: from a Catholic tchotchkes store; Shirt and jeans: Reitmans. Shoes: Ecco|
Yes, sometimes this has included sunglasses -- because I've been crying, or in case I cry again.
|Shirt: Reitman's; Earrings: Jessica|
My hummingbird has been visiting a lot. That's been nice. She comes right to the feeder on my study window, with her tiny little heart beat and her funny little tongue. I do love her.
I'm not sure why I like birds so much, but I do. I guess they feel like a visitation from the realm of what the Romantic poets called the Sublime, and what others might call God. Birds, especially hummingbirds, are Sublime Mercies: a little bit of the divine getting through to this world, providing just a little relief in my suffering.
You know when I wear my little dove necklace a lot, that I'm really feeling weak and frightened and low. It's a way to remind myself that God is with me. I've needed that a lot lately.
That's it: an update. It's been bad. I'm not always strong.
I think I'm improving but it's still rough, physically and emotionally.
Here's hoping for better soon, if only enough of a reduction in pain that I can take myself for little walks of a few blocks again, like I could in ancient history -- a month and a half ago.