the bush and the concrete prison

Exploring the two sides of me. 

In the bush I am: 

kind, stable, strong, assured, at peace, gentle, caring, loving, a healer, all knowing, a goddess  

Out in society I am: 

fearful, anxious, untidy, unmotivated, overwhelmed, over-stimulated, not understood, very sensitive, not supported, alone, CUT OFF FROM HER TRUE ESSENCE, to many responsibilities to manage, constantly at battle with herself, angry, a mundane shluff 

The forest is my realm 
  The kingdom that I have been entrusted with 
to keep
to love
to wander in
to give and receive healing

When I am kept away, I lose myself
Getting lost in the concrete prison
Dying more at each stop sign and corner turned

I obsess with being in nature
Supported by her love

I wear myself down with longing
The intensity difficult
Never letting up

What am I to do? 
  Have I glorified what I can’t have? 
Have I created a false truth? 
  I second guess myself.  

My heart hurts 
My soul aches 
Unable to sustain life away from my kingdom 
Dying, dying, dying…… 
  Wanting to hasten the process if I must remain in the cookie cutter concrete prison

My soul longs to soar with the birds  
To take root like the trees 
To flow with the streams 
  Burbling, life-giving streams 
It wants to nestle into the moss and wintergreen 
  It wants life 
My soul wants the life it came here for! 

Solstice – present and past

Written on Solstice 2019 

A year ago, I went to Medicine Man’s to prepare myself for the winter solstice festivity that evening.  It was a ritual of sorts.  A goddess letting go of what no longer served her.  A goddess accentuating her beauty for herself, but also for Gentle Giant.  Medicine Man proclaimed me “smokin hot.”  Gentle Giant didn’t say anything.  He never did.  Not once. 

I don’t know how to tell this story.  365 days later, and I’m still caught up in it.  The Universe can be cruel.  Heartless when it decides to beat a lesson into you.  When it decides you need to learn something.  The sad thing is, I’m not sure I learnt what I was supposed to.  It became about so much more than myself.  My small, seemingly insignificant speck of a life.  My ancestors were drawn in.  My Mother and Grandmothers were called in to receive healing.  I received a profound healing, yet my heart remains broken.     

It’s safer to spend this solstice in a shack in the bush.  Away from people.  Away from men who only want things on their terms.  Away from the concrete prison.  Away from women who turn into bitches because of their own raging hurt and pain.  Women who have far strayed from their natural maternal nurturing and healing ways.  I’m more suited for aloneness.  The aloneness doesn’t hurt when I’m in the bush.  It’s my home, it’s where I’m supposed to be.   

I’m still trying to figure out how six weeks with a man could mess me up so badly.  It becomes an issue of me not being able to validate my intense sensitivity.  It’s not “normal” for someone to be so broken after something so innocuous.  

Am I ashamed?  Yes.   

Am I embarrassed?  Yes.   

Am I naive?  Probably 

Am I vulnerable?  Not sure 

I’m not stupid by any stretch of the imagination.  I go where the heart leads.  I follow my intuition.  The universe said that me and Gentle Giant needed to have a go around, so we did.  I listened.  And got incredibly wounded in the process.   

In this moment, I sit here in the cabin, it’s dark out, the fire crackles, the candles glow, the boys sleep peacefully, in this moment, I hate myself.  I detest my gentle nature, my loneliness, the ugliness of 2019.  I hate that I am not more mainstream.  Able to have flings.  Able to sleep around.  To cut loose what no longer serves me and move on.  To not care that I don’t have friends.  

What is the root of this angst?  Why does it persist in lingering?  Causing havoc and upset in my life? 

I can’t blame poor decision making.   It wasn’t a stupid choice.  There are no mistakes.  We were supposed to be together for a blip in time.  Is that what I’m having hard time with?  I need something to blame?  I need a reason for this incredible pain?  To know a purpose? 

Why do I feel shame over making a mountain out of what society calls a mole hill?  It’s long been established that I am not like most of society.   

 Who cares what they think?  Why do I care?  Why do I still care?  It’s been a year.  Because I want to fit in, that’s why.  I want to be “normal”, or at least more normal.  I don’t want to have to fight every single day to be ok.  To survive.  And why do I want to fit in?  It seems like life would be easier.  To go along with the herd mentality.  To be the status quo.   

I close my eyes to examine my blockages in detail: 

Gentle Giant – A small metal ball, 1″ in diameter.  So dense it is impossible to pick up.  It’s fused to the ground, the grass around it dead.   

Shame – Ice/glass.  2-3′, 50lbs.  Smooth, all curves.  Impossible to get a hold on it.  It just slips and slides.  Unwieldly. 

Once I have those two images that signify Gentle Giant and shame, I turn on The Bear by Niall.  I lay in the dark and wait to see what will happen.  The beautiful music stirs my soul.     

My spirit animals and guides dance, a tribal powwow type dance. Round and round we go, surrounding the shame with our movements. Dancing and dancing.  The angels come close to the sculpture, each holding a match close to the surface.  Small efforts are powerful.  But then it morphed into a huge mountain.  I stood there stunned.  It was akin to Mount Everest.  I wasn’t sure what to do anymore.  So many angels and native Americans surrounded the mountain, holding hands.  Thousands and thousands.  An entity put a huge piece of rose quartz on the summit, love radiating down the mountain slope.  The summit seemed to glow and I felt so overcome with emotion.  Just as quickly as it morphed into a mountain, it shrunk down into a molehill, then down into nothing.  Then the melted water from the ice sculpture turned into a beautiful glacier like lake.  I lay under the stars, in a campsite.  Lay around the fire.  Intending to stay the night.  Surrounded by my animals.   

Then I was laying on top of the small metal ball.  Still completely fused into the ground.  We surrounded it with rose quartz, all the size of the metal ball.  In a spiral so large it covered a great deal of the planet.  It was not affected by the love.  Then I was curled around it in the fetal position, the ball was in the middle, as if i was trying to protect it.  I was out of my body, trying to tug myself away, sensing this was not a healthy thing.  I pulled as hard as I could, afraid I would tear my skin away that was frozen in the ground.  Unconscious.  Frozen in the ground just like the ball.  Thrown out like a piece of garbage by Gentle Giant.   

I can’t get her loose.  The animals and spirit guides have left me.  I want to give up on her and leave too.  Abandon myself.  If all these people throw me out like trash, maybe I am trash.  Not worth the effort?  I call out for Joshua and Papa, but there is nothing there.  No one comes, then I disintegrate into sand.   

I’m not sure how to shift this, so I will leave nayelli laying there frozen into the ground, surrounding Gentle Giant.  I find this disturbing.  I am not giving up.  It’s not in my nature.  Maybe I don’t want to save her…… 

It’s a day later, and I’m at the shack again.  As I was walking back to my car last night, I got hit with a truth.  I wrote that I was not giving up because it’s not in my nature.  That’s not entirely true.  As much as it disturbed me to leave nayelli laying there frozen, appearing dead, I was also ambivalent about it.  Caring, but not caring.  I could just as easily keep working at getting her free as I could throw my hands up in the air, say fuck it, and walk away.  It hurt a bit to realize I did that on my 40th birthday.  Too full of pain, too lonely, too confused too keep going.  To disappointed and full of rage.  I didn’t see a way of keeping going.  I was incredibly disillusioned, so I walked away.  I gave up. 

And the journey continues.  

sweet Sam and duke – doggy play date

I love watching dogs play. There is something innocent and simple in the way they interact. They don’t have the spoken word to bog things down. It’s all upfront. There is no pretending. A snarl, a bow, ears back, raused hair, a sniff to the butt, a raised lip. If the body signals are not respected, there are consequences. I’d rather be a dog!

Sweet Sam has had a couple of play dates with Duke, a 6 month border collie. So much fun to watch!

roiling rage

December 14, 2019  3:30pm 

My dead mother’s birthday. The mother I don’t miss, the mother I wish I had never known.  The mother who wounded me so deeply, the hate still lingers.  My Mother, extended family, church and community are all enmeshed.  I work at healing, and I have healed a lot, but lately I’ve been steeped in anger.  Rage roils just under the surface.  

 I haven’t been in the bush in weeks.  Me and the boys just came back from a walk around town, and as it often does, I came back even angrier.  No one is outside, no kids playing.  No adults walking.  It’s silent.  A deadly silence.  A foreboding that I can not deal with.  All I want is to be in the bush.  Living in my tiny home.   

I want to blame Medicine Man for taking that away from me.  I want to hate him.  He hurt me so badly with his truth.  He took so much away from me.  My community.  My way of life.  My friends.  I want to hate him.  I want to rail out.  I want to say that because of him, I was forced to move into town.  Into a place I don’t want to be, into a house I don’t want to be in.  A house that is just a house.  Alone, forsaken.  Sad and in pain.  I want to blame him.  I really do.  Just like I want to blame Gentle Giant for being a totally irresponsible little boy and also causing deep wounds in my life that I still have not healed from.   

But I won’t.  I will not blame anyone.  I will not play the victim.  But I do not know how to deal with this deep, aching pain.  I’m tired.  So bone weary.  As the years go past, I get more and more tired, less able to deal with the darkness.  It’s so heavy.  I need community that I can share my pain with.  I need friends to go hiking with.  I need someone to talk to.  I need money so I can go out and do things by myself.  I need the bush.   

I’m so angry.  So, so angry.  It’s so unfair.  Everything is so stinking unfair.  I’m tired of being nice.  I’m tired of working at healing.  I just want my tiny home in the bush.  Away from people. Away from the shitshow.  I want simple.  I want to be able to roam.  To go into the bush and be ok.  Lay out my blanket and soak in the sun’s warmth.  I want purpose.  I want contentment.  I want life, or I want death.  None of this in-between shit.   

I want it, but I can’t have it.  So now what?  I want to give up, I’ve often tried giving up, but I can’t.  How ridiculous is that?  My soul, who seems to want out pretty badly, won’t let me give up.  That’s twisted.   

Writing this is just creating more turmoil.  I’m off to take a nap and reset my brain. 

December 14, 2019  8:00pm 

I lay down and examined my anger. With compassion and empathy.  I ended up weeping.  I don’t cry much anymore.  I have shed so many tears in my life, I might have run dry.  They weren’t tears of anger or rage, but of despair and hopelessness.  Over and over I cried, “I just want my tiny home.”  The home I was going to build in the bush beside the water.  Off grid, away from people.  I suppose it was a foolish endeavor.  But I had to try.  It’s the only thing I have ever wanted.  The only thing I ever will want.  How could I not pursue it?   

Then came the brutal dog fight, so much blood.  Then came the truth.    

“You’re holding my community back.  The weakest link.  Man up, grow a pair, get with the program.  I’m tired of your dysfunctional patterns.  Your energy caused this.  You are to blame.  You’re too sensitive, too sensitive, too sensitive.” 

This desperately wounded man, physically wounded by his dogs, emotionally wounded by his mothers, covering up his hatred for women, repressing his feelings, pushing them down, down, down.  Until I pushed the trigger, and he exploded, the shrapnel nearly killing me.  This wonderful, narcissistic, head in the clouds, fascinating man taught me about the divine feminine, helped me through a deep depression, helped me navigate through a fucked up 6 weeks with a selfish, self-centered, lonely, brutally damaged young man.  This giving, anxious, keeper of the land, told me over and over, I love you like a sister.  I love you like a sister.  I’ve never loved a woman like a sister before.  We spent hours and hours together.  This man cut me down to nothing in a trauma induced truth telling session.   

I’m angry, but its root is hopelessness.  Over losing so much.  Over being trapped by being poverty stricken.  Over being so sensitive.  

Once I saw that the anger was really hopelessness, I took a look at that.  There was no color associated with it.  The texture was interesting.  When I poked it, it was a dense, but malleable rubber.  Several inches thick, but my finger went right in.  It was a huge piece of rubber.  Its circumference a few miles wide.  It reminded me of the rubber exercise balls you blow up and roll around on.  Except a huge version.  There was no way to move it.  It couldn’t be pushed or pulled.  No way to hook it up to something.  Think of a rubber dingy half deflated and full of rain water lying on your front yard.  There is no way to move that, and it’s relatively small.   

Me and Joshua got up on top of it and sat in the middle, seeing nothing but this wide expanse of rubber.  Hopelessness.  In one of my recent meditations, I learned of heart congruency.  It has something to do with using gratitude to shift difficult energies.  I thought about how to use this to shift this huge block in my life.  The color yellow came to mind and I coated the rubber with a yellow light.  It flowed effortlessly over this entity.   

Then I thought of how what this hopelessness signified.  Why was I feeling this powerful, all-encompassing sadness?  I’m not in love with myself.  I’m not comfortable being nayelli alethia.  I might never have my tiny home, but I will always have myself.  The sacral chakra is where our abode resides.  I got my yellow citrine which can be used for the sacral chakra.  I held it on my abdomen and flowed out more yellow, lots of love.  I held the pain loosely.  Acknowledging it, listening to it, letting it rise.  I was stunned when within a few seconds, not even moments, the blockage had dissipated to absolutely nothing.  That huge, miles wide piece of immovable rubber was gone.  Just like that.  I have never been able to shift anything that quickly, that concisely.   

I do some inner work with my little girl, and a part of me I call Laydee Bitter.  Laydee Bitter is the deeply wounded part of my psyche that holds me back a lot because she lives in fear, distrust, anger and anxiety.  She does her best to protect me, but her tools are ineffective, and we are working on it.  Much like I do my best to help Hephzibah feel safe and secure, I do the same for Laydee Bitter.  I checked in on them both.  Laydee Bitter was locked in a padded room, I looked in the window and she was completely despondent, non-responsive, sitting on the bed.  My little girl was nowhere to be found.  No surprise for either of them.  None of my parts deal with anger very well.  I want to abandon myself, and often do when I get into rages.   

I spent the rest of the evening in exhaustion.  Silently hurting, but not as angry.  I often feel like I’m in a battle for my life.  Most of the past 25 years has been spent in flight, fight or freeze.  I want out.  My adrenals are shot, my body is worn out.  The thought that this is the pinnacle of health for me is devastating.  

I AM, bison, and a cranky trailer

December 9, 2019
10:18pm

The day started off in a shaky fashion. I slept way past the alarm. Partly because I didn’t want to wake up and face the day because I was in a dark, dark place. I know there are many energetic reasons for unexplained dark feelings, but it always throws me for a loop. Like how can I wake up feeling so terribly after a really good night’s sleep. How can I be in a really dark place before I’ve even opened up my eyes? I tend to have a hard time shifting that sort of energy, so I was expecting my day to be a write off. A day spent trying to be gentle on myself while just surviving the 13 hours till I could go back to bed.

We got up and got fed, snuggled on the couch while I carded wool. Then I got on the meditation pillow. I’ve been procrastinating on the meditation/yoga/qi gong/energy work/any sort of serious self care. I’m really shut down at the moment and in a depression. If I stop and think about what is going on in my life, I literally can’t cope, so I keep myself shut down. But I like meditating and know that it is decidely beneficial for my brain. The last couple of times I have sat down to meditate, my mind has not been able to slow down at all, so I went in with curiousity to see how it would go. I played the heart chakra singing bowl, smudged, then as I often do as part of my meditation, I ran my hands over my body repeating over and over, “I love you nayelli alethia!” I was wearing my bathrobe and tights. I ran my hands over my breasts, cupping them in my hands, and got instantly aroused. So I included some self-pleasuring in my meditation. I don’t self-pleasure a lot, but for the last few months, when I do, as I orgasm, as the feel good hormones race through my body, I repeat over and over, I love you nayelli alethia as a way of reprogramming my neural pathways. There really is no better time to flood yourself with love. It was beautiful.

About 3 years ago, my chiropractor turned me onto a free 40 day online meditation event. Partway through it, Mom got sick and started chemo and I took off to a cabin in the bush without internet. I ended up buying a download. It was my first introduction to meditation outside of contemplative christianity type stuff. I found it very powerful and started it again this morning. The mantra was I Am. “I Am” has religious conatations for me and makes me a little uncomfortable, and while I was silently repeating it, the image of Jesus on the cross flashed through my mind. My first instinct was to immediately shut it down. But I’m wanting to deepen my intuition, so I need to flow with what ever wants to come up. Nothing other than the image came up after I allowed it back.

When the meditation was done, I felt like I needed to keep going, so I gathered up my spirit animals. The all stood facing inwards today. The buck towards the east, the bison on the north and the south, and Charles the bald eagle behind me to the west. Harriot lay beside me. Joshua and Papa were also to the east. I have been feeling a strong connection to the bison for sometime. They came up so their heads were butting up against my arms. Not their noses, but their entire heads. We sat there like that, and I continued to contemplate I AM in relation to the bison. What message did the bison have for me? What could I learn from them?

I am of substance
I am solid
I am needed
I am stalwart
I am ancient
I am protector
I AM

I am wisdom incarnate ( i don’t know what this means.)
I am life

I am gate keeper
Protector
Solid
Unmovable

I was lost but am coming back
I have always been
Wisdom never lost for those who sit and wait

Gatekeeprs of knowledge
of lost tradition
of a way of life

I am bison

My energy shifted and I had a good day. Papa texted me early afternoon and said there was work for me at his shop, so I made lunch then made my way there. I move slowly. I almost never rush. I’m not late for things, but getting ready for something takes me forever and a day it seems like. I have a hard time going with the flow. And changing course midway causes tsunami’s! But I got there eventually.

Papa needed quite a few trailers moved from one lot to another lot about 2 miles away. The first 2 were no problem. The third trailer’s jack was frozen into the ice. I managed to get it out, but then the tires were frozen in. Someone came out to help and we worked on it for quite awhile. We pried the tires out of the ice, but then the truck wasn’t able to pull the trailer out of the ruts. And with new RV trailers surrounding us, we needed to be careful with what we did. I got it to the other lot, worked for a while at getting it 3′ away from the trailer beside it, made sure it was in a straight line with the other trailers because Dad is a stickler for such details, and by myself I just am not able to do a good job of it. I unlatched the hitch, unhooked the safety chains, dropped the leg on the jack, then tried to turn the jack handle to raise the trailer. I couldn’t budge it. I walked around the back of the trailer and noticed the dealer plate had fallen off. Sheesh, this trailer was seriously cranky today. I had no choice but to take it back to the shop and leave it there for the mechanics to look at it tomorrow.

Another day is done. It was nice to have something to do. It was even nicer that I felt able to do to it. I had the energy, both physical and emotional.

It’s off to bed for us now. The boys are already tucked in and silently slumbering. Where ever you are, what ever you are doing, remember that you are loved. Take a moment to sit with that love and then pass it on!

poor…but safe and warm

December 8, 2019
9:58pm

I am ending the weekend feeling so discouraged due to being triggered over money. I am living on $340 a month plus whatever I make from my crafts and odd jobs. BUT… I am only allowed to earn $200 before social assistance takes 70% of it away. I live the best life I can on so little, I try really hard not to dwell on the meagreness of my existence. But sometimes the dam springs a leak and the facade crumbles. What would my workers do if they had to live on $340 a month? What would they do if they were nothing but a number? Do they care? How can anyone work for such a broken system and sleep at night?

I’ve changed up the boys food because they are both experiencing digestive issues and I’m fixated on Hephzibah dying. I know that dried dog food is HORRIBLE for them, akin to human’s eating McDonald’s every meal. It hurts me to feed them that food, but I can’t even afford to even have dog’s or a car, or to even feed myself, so fuck this shit. They are now getting meat for both meals, which is more money. But there was no direhea today, no puking, no straining and straining on numerous bathroom trips outside. I can’t take the boys to the vet.

I need a hug. I need to be held for a long, long time.

I honestly don’t really think of myself as poor, but I am, and it’s a burden I live with every day. I have for the past 20 years. Some years have been better than other’s. The past year has been one of the leanest. To add to the messiness of it all, I heap shame on myself because I feel like I spend the little bit of money I have irresponsibly. That almost makes me laugh. A lot of my clothes are ratty, I’m living off the care package Witchy Sister put together for me this fall, I gave up on budgeting because there just isn’t enough money to go around. I hardly have enough money to contemplate spending it irresponsibly.

What can I do about it? I can’t change the system. I can’t be angry at my workers. I feel very little incentive to work at earning more than $200 month if I only get to keep 30% of it. I have such a hard time not letting my self-worth get caught up in this mess. Sometimes I think I should give up on my hobbies, they don’t cost me a lot of money, I made sure I picked cheap hobbies. But nothing is free. I can’t let go of the boy’s or Kat, but….. If I give up my car, I won’t have any life what so ever. There really is no tenable solution here. Beleive me, I know. It’s been 20 years of feeling so fricken trapped.

What else is possible? The only thing that is left is to examine this moment. I’m in a warm basement, in a room all to myself. It’s quiet, it’s safe. Sweet Sam is curled up beside me. I’m under a colorful blanket that I found at the thrift shop for $2. I’m on a laptop that I bought a 3 years ago with money I managed to save up at that point. I’m have a banana and almond butter for night snack. I get to make decisions as to what I’m going to eat, where I’m going to go, who I’m going to see. I just got out of a huge tub full of hot water. I spent the day working with raw wool, something I find satisfying. I am so creative. I keep trying and trying. This moment, I am ok. No, I will not be able to buy any christmas gifts. I will not be able to buy any new clothes for myself. I will not be able to do anything or go anywhere, anytime soon. But in this moment, I am safe, I am warm, and I have my boy’s.

I am a beautiful woman trapped in a fucked up situation.

macabre fascination with some seriously fucked up shit

December 7, 2019
5:44pm

I had a reprieve from the depression and anxiety today. Felt a tad more centered. Moon time is over! No more cramping so bad it almost induced vomiting.

—-

December 8, 2019
11:20am

Yesterday was a day of being in the land of saneness. There were no meltdowns, no acute anxiety, my physical body didn’t protest too much. It was an overall nice day. I’m feeling the same today. A steadiness that I wish would last for weeks at a time.

——

I like true crime as a lot of humans do. We tend to have a macabre fascination with some seriously fucked up shit. However, because I’m an empath and very sensitive I can be very affected by what I listen to. I have found a couple of true crime podcasts that are hosted by comedians. They somehow make crime and comedy work. I have a dark sense of humor, so it fits me well.

  1. Scam Goddess
    This podcast makes me laugh every time. It talks about scam artists.
  2. My Favorite Murder
    Hosted by two women who each recount a different murder.
  3. Thinking Sideways
    Not comedians, but definetly light hearted. They discuss an unsolved mystery every week. Not just crimes, but anything that has not or can not be solved throughout the ages.

Many years ago, I found a podcast called Mental Illness Happy Hour. The host Paul Gilmartin is a comedian as well as someone who suffers from depression. He made survey’s for people to fill out that he reads at the end of every show after talking to someone about their journey with mental illness. Some of the survey’s are about our darkest thoughts and sexual fantasies. It was such a relief to find out that my fantasy’s that I considered sinful (as taught by the church) were actually completely normal. Everyone fantasizes. About a variety of things. I’ve wanted to kill people. I’ve came up with plans. I’m a very sexual person. I’ve had a very vivid sexual fanatsy life since I was a young teenager, and have suffered so much shame and guilt over it due to religion.

Sorry to tell you folks, but it’s a normal function of our brains. And by telling teenagers/young adults that it’s a sin, you are doing serious damage to them. It turns into repression because they have no one to talk to about their thoughts. No one to reassure them that EVERYONE fantasizes. It’s normal!! Yes, as with everything, there needs to be a balance, but the opportunity for a healthy balance is taken away by trying to eradicate any “sinful” thought. We are blatantly sexual beings. There is no such thing as being able to be completely pure. It makes nonsense to try to get the religious masses to turn off their sexuality. That approach quicky backfires. I can testify to that.

cannabis and dying dogs

December 6, 2019
8:30pm

I went into Lucille’s (our local cannabis shop) for the first time tonight, and asked for wrapping paper. When the owner looked at me funny, and I practically rolled my eyes at myself while wanting to disappear. Wrapping paper didn’t sound, right, but I couldn’t think of the correct term. I told him I didn’t know the right terminology but wanted to make a joint. He said, “oh, you want rolling papers! I thought maybe you actually wanted wrapping paper for presents.” I told him he could laugh at me if he wanted to, a good mennonite woman who doesn’t know what the heck she is talking about.

I take a few puffs out of a bong every night to put me to sleep, but I find it irritates my lungs. Whenever I smoke a joint, I never feel that way, so I want to try rolling my own. I really should video tape me trying to roll the first one, it’s going to be an amusing disaster.

I spent the afternoon at Sparrow’s cozy little store. I took my crafting shit along, spread everything out on the table and made cards and envelopes while sipping some Om Shanti tea. I walked in needing to weep. In physical pain from having a moon time from hell. In emotional pain because I’m obbsessing over one of my four legged babies being sick. I’m starting to have a hard time sleeping at night because I think he’s dying. I’m not ready for him to die. I need him. I need him so badly. I’m not ready to go off the rails again. To do a deep dive into grief that I never really seem to recover from. To have little emotional support as my boy dies a slow death. I CAN NOT go through this again. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!

Why do I have dogs? Why do I have a cat? Why do I allow myself to get attached to anyone? Why do I keep seeking out new people to replace the ones who discard me? It would be easier to go through life alone. Utterly and totally alone. To know with unwavering doubt that there will be no more losses. No more sickness and death. No more pain and heartache that I can’t heal from.

I lie in bed at night, not sure how I will kill my baby when the time comes because there is no way I can watch him slowly die without killing myself. Thinking that maybe I should kill myself before this goes any further. Life is a fucking mess. I’m a walking wound. Raw and oozing. Infected with all the pain I pick up from Mother Nature, from people, from animals. If Hephzibah is actually dying, life is going to turn into a shit show.

I’m not meant for life in this cruel, fake, disposable society. Where everything is about easy. Where everything is about the bottom line. Where most everything is a lie. I’m meant for truth and love. As much as I want to be totally alone, I know I’m not meant for that either, and that really hurts because I can’t find community. I can’t find friends that last. I’m a lone wolf who is dying of lonliness.

There are a lot of can’ts in my life at the moment. So many of them having to do with being incredibly poor and being chronically exhausted and never feeling well physically. I don’t know how to go about transmuting any of my shit into positives. Gratitude has lost it’s magical presence in my life. I wander through each day as if lost in a deep fog. No purpose, no energy. Lacklustre and hurting. Keenly feeling each one of my losses. Lying awake at night constantly saying, “stop” as an unwanted, terrible thoughts try to roll through my consciousness. I need help, help takes money. I’m too tired to keep trying to take care of myself. My self-care has drastically decreased. My connection to my spirit animals and the angels has diminished like wisps of smoke. I’m here on earth putting in time. Waiting for my end to come. Most days it doesn’t seem like it will be soon enough.

No matter how dark life is, there is always a multitude of things to be grateful for. Sweet Sam is sprawled across my lap as I’m typing. His fluffly fur sticking up wildly, his legs akimbo. Hephzibah is curled up beside us, his nose tucked in under his paws. My babies are at peace for the moment. I watch them with never ceasing wonder. They are mine, and I am theirs. They are all I have. My life. I am thankful!