I can hear the neighbors, scratching against the walls, coughing, loading and unloading their cars, yelling at their dogs. The landlord has decided it’s my job to “clean the yard” when I distinctly remember us talking about the fact that I do not do yard work when I moved in, and I haven’t had the strength to fight that yet. The noises that come through my not-that-thin walls seem to be created in a symphony designed to freak out my inner canine. I rush to the door to make sure no one is in my yard, and that is not the type of heart racing that counts as cardio.
Woke up early, headachy. Started the day, took my medicine, and started the day. Within the first hour, I vomited bile, mucus, and could taste the bitterness of the medicine I had already taken. I knew I needed to get calories in my body, and got things out but ed’d and didn’t get them consumed before I had a second, unproductive wave. Dry toast, cola, and a couple of hours later, some of the vegan vegetable soup I made last week. I feel very full. Hopefully I’ll feel nourished soon too. Couldn’t manage a nap.
I miss my parents. I miss my friends. I miss hugging and sitting near people without freaking out. I miss seeing groups of people and being happy at the visible communities. My anxiety and grief are in an ongoing battle of king of the mountain, and this monster is really tired of being the mountain. The scratches and gashes being left aren’t the kind I can dress with salve and bandages. Staying busy while feeling terrible feels better than not, and so far that’s serving me to a point. It really sucks to miss people, and it sucks more when I can’t just text or call the specific people that I miss. <stopped and picked back up a few hours later>
None of this is funny. I didn’t think it was funny when Trump was elected, I don’t think his “work” is funny now.
While the world is crumbling and there is poetry on the tips of my fingertips that isn’t ready to be written yet, I want to document something. Who knows what next month will bring, but now that I’m a bit more organized, I can see that I don’t need to panic. My “must be prepared” strategy means I have cans, dried goods, and the like to last. Most of the meds I need, and most of the witchy things. The more time I have to spend here, the more comfortable I’m getting. My storage unit needs work (dropped off some things there, more collapses) but it’s paid for and I can go there when I need with fairly low risk. This is my home, and we’re making it work. (Altars everywhere, good energy from folks, not doing this alone.)
Holding two truths that seem contradictory is hard, but I’ve been practicing.