If anyone in my life needs encouragement today, it can’t come from me because I am in need of the same thing. I just can’t blow sunshine up anyone’s ass today, Lord, so I ask that you send them whatever it is that they need, please.
If it is possible, can you also please remind me that millions of other human beings through history have lived through worse situations than me and still managed to make art, and find joy, and give hope and resist despair? Could you do that for me today?
In fact, send us all a little reminder that we can suffer and still be ok. May our faith be stronger than our fear.
And help us remember to drink some water. My body really needs some hydration.
Me: God, I’m scared. I’m trying so hard not to be, but I am.
God: I know, my child. Do you want to talk about it?
Me: No, not really. Besides, you already know everything. Talking isn’t going to change it.
God: Let’s talk about it anyway. We’ve done this before.
Me: I know. I’m just so tired. I should be stronger than this. I can’t seem to get anything right.
God: *waiting patiently, never annoyed.*
Me: I’m just so tired. I’m never going to figure out how to live and manage all this. Its too much. I’m scared that I’m going to crack under all this pressure. My heart has never felt so broken before. I’m afraid that my attempts to recover are actually going to be what kills me. I’m afraid that I’m not strong enough to cope with it all. I’m afraid of the things I’m having to process in therapy. I’ve spent years acting as if my nightmares are just that – things in my imagination. I have tried so hard to make it all go away. Its what my whole life has revolved around. But all that energy put into avoiding has been for nothing because here I am, having to stare it straight in the face.
God: Anything else?
Me: EVERYTHING ELSE.
God: Remember the other day when the smoke alarm was beeping in the kitchen and Buddy came running across the house?
Me: Yes.
God: When you heard him running, you started calling out to him before he even got to you … remember? Do you remember what you called out to him?
Me: I said, “You’re okay! You’re okay! Mommy’s right here.”
God: Why did you call out to him? Why didn’t you just wait until he got to you?
Me: Because I wanted him to know that I was here, and I heard him, and he didn’t have to be afraid because I was right here.
God: Exactly. I hear you, my child. I hear your thoughts racing like Buddy’s little puppy feet down the hallway. There’s another side to all of this and I’m already there. I’ve seen the end of it. And I want you to know that as you walk through all of this, you’re going to be okay. I haven’t turned my back on you. I’m right here. I always was and I always will be.
Me: *crying* Can you just wait here with me for a while until I calm down? Can you hold me and cover me in your peace before I go back to facing it all again?
I don’t have the vocabulary to be able to adequately describe what I am feeling right now. There are simply no words that could do justice in explaining what’s in my heart.
Today was a good day. They’ve been few and far between lately but today the positives just seemed to accumulate, and for that, I am ever so grateful.
Now tonight … it’s hard to even breathe because I am just so overwhelmed. I love nature. I love being outdoors. I live with salt water mere feet from my doorstep. And I love summer nights. Lately, though, I have been so full of darkness that there has been little room for much else. My craving for peace and calm has been so intense that it has morphed into a physical ache.
Tonight as the day came to an end, I felt myself being quickly swallowed up by the darkness once again. I went out and sat on the back patio, to take in a few moments of fresh air before calling it a night, and the sky was incredible. I turned off all the outdoor lights on the house and positioned my chair to get the best view. I sat back and was simply in awe.
The stars were brighter than I ever recall seeing them before. Not a cloud in the sky, just hundreds and thousands of tiny sparkling lights. The longer I sat there on my patio in the dark, the more overwhelmed I felt. Sheer gratitude to be able to sit and see such beauty, with the sound of the light waves on the beach in the background. To be living and breathing and seeing and hearing is a blessing I am so often guilty of taking for granted.
I thanked God, for reminding me that no matter how dark things may appear, there’s always something beautiful waiting for me to experience. I am 42 years old and in my entire life, I’ve just seen one single shooting star. But tonight, in 2 hours, I witnessed 11 of them. ELEVEN!!!! It was like watching a screensaver on a computer screen.
I feel renewed. I feel refreshed. I feel … hopeful. My cries of desperation seemed to fall on deaf ears lately but I’m now reminded that things are not always as they seem. I believe I was given the opportunity to have this experience tonight so I could be reminded that God never turns a deaf ear to me. Not one tear that has fallen from my eyes has gone unnoticed. And that even though my mind has been full of so much darkness lately …
Yesterday evening was rough. Anxiety had been raging through my body all day and my mood was all over the place. I was pretty discouraged. But it was a beautiful evening and I had been out in the garden. My pain level was quite high and I was close to tears. I sat back in my chair on the patio and I was looking up at the sky. Talking to God, I was telling Him how I could really use a dose of encouragement.
There was a notification on my phone and it was a pastor friend of mine. We began chatting and I shared a bit of what was going on. In between texts I was resting my head against the back of the chair, looking up at the sky. I noticed a long white jet trail stretching out above me. And when I looked closer I saw another trail beginning. I watched the jet make it’s way across the sky, soaking up the beauty of the evening sunset.
I’ve seen many jets in my lifetime, flying high in the sky, but what I witnessed yesterday was like a personal sign from God. The thought came to me … beauty still remains, you just need to look closer. It moved me to tears. The colors of the sky at that precise moment along with the fresh jet streams running above me were such a sight to behold.
I was reminded, in more ways than one, that I am not alone even though it felt that way yesterday evening. I was reminded that in the midst of struggle, beauty remains. Between the words coming to me from Linda and the view stretching across the sky above me, I was encouraged. Which is what I asked for.
I had my Ketamine infusion on Thursday This time was harder than the others have been over the past few months. Maybe because I was dehydrated …? I don’t know. But … I honestly did not think I was that dehydrated though. It never even crossed my mind when I went in there. I could tell that one of the regular nurses started to get frustrated. She said my veins were even smaller than they usually are. It took her quite a while to locate one that she would even attempt to put an iv into. She started sweating and I felt soooo bad. I wish I could have just pointed to a spot anywhere on my body and said, there’s a vein! But there were literally no visible veins to be found.
So then came the manual search. She was gentle, like she usually is, but even just running a finger over my skin and some light tapping hurt. I felt as if I was covered in bruises. Except I wasn’t. I was just cold. After her 3rd failed attempt she called over another nurse who started with my hand, then worked her way up my arm, poking and patting and rubbing to try and get a vein to swell up enough for an iv needle to thread into. She said something about my arm being cold and commented on the fact that I appeared to be quite dehydrated. Something about the elasticity of my skin. I can’t remember exactly what it was that she said.
By this point the shivering had started. The first nurse took my socks off and started rubbing the top of my foot while the other one made several attempts at what she thought were strong veins. I had been fighting with every bit of strength I had to hold back tears but after another failed attempt at yet another promising vein – in my foot this time – a sob came out of my mouth. It actually took me off guard because I was not expecting it. I thought that the imaginary valve in the back of my throat was secure in the closed-off position but the force behind that sob blew right through it.
Somewhere along the line a 3rd nurse had come over and was rubbing my other foot. I didn’t remember her coming. It’s like she just appeared. She rubbed my leg and said, I’m only going to try once and if I don’t get it we’ll have to call Jackie. Jackie is one of the anaesthesiologists in the hospital and has been called on more than one occasion to come and place an iv in me. She’s never had to poke me more than 2 times and more often than not she got it in on the first try.
So that’s what happened. They called Jackie. In the meantime the nurses tidied up around my bed and got me a clean, warm blanket. They had used the other one to catch blood that had ran down my arm. They said they were going to give me a little break and then left me alone for a few minutes. I turned over on my side and held the blanket against my mouth and nose. I didn’t want anyone to hear me cry.
I stared at the curtain and just started praying. God, I can’t handle this … It’s too much. It hurts … it hurts all over. It doesn’t usually hurt this much. I don’t want them to touch me anymore. God, please … this is torture … I can’t …….... I know you’re here. You’re always with me. You tell me you’ll never leave me and I can come to you anytime. Well, I’m here and I really need you to be here too right now. God, please … make it stop ...
Jackie pulled up a chair and sat at the foot of my bed after a brief look over my arm and not finding anything of interest. She started rubbing my foot with her hands, to try and warm them up, she said. She told me to try and relax and to take a few deep breaths. With that little bit of compassion from her, I felt a fresh stream of tears run down from the corners of my eyes. She told me that if I take a few deep breaths it will help the blood to flow better through my veins and that my blood needs oxygen to flow properly.
Every time I tried to inhale my breath kept catching in my throat, which in turn led to a small gasp to get it back. It took several attempts before I got a good breath in but it really helped. I had started to feel like I was floating away. After a few good breaths I started to feel the bed beneath me again and I could feel Jackie patting the top of my foot. She spoke and told me to, stay really still now. I instantly lost my breath again. I felt the needle pierce the top of my foot and she slowly went deeper. I heard the click of the release button, indicating the iv was threaded into the vein and could be released from the needle. It’s in, she said. You need to breathe ….
And that’s all I remember. That was around 11am on Thursday. The next clear moment was when I felt Zoey’s wet nose against my arm around 9am Friday morning. Ketamine has that effect on me. It tends to wipe my memory clean of almost everything for 12 – 24 hours following the infusion.
My head felt like it had been smashed against a wall when I lifted it off my pillow this morning. I did a quick body scan to see if there was pain anywhere else. Nope. All clear! The first 24 – 48 hours after my Ketamine infusions are the closest I get to being ‘pain-free’. Today offered little space to appreciate the low pain level though. It was a freaking emotional roller-coaster inside of me today. Tears began shortly after I got up. I was washing my face and noticed that one of my earrings had fallen out at some point. This big wave of sadness just swept right over me and tears started falling. Wasn’t expecting that!
A little while later I was laying back on the couch and David was sitting on the opposite end. We were watching an episode of Station 19 on TV together and there was an intimate scene between a husband and wife. More tears … and no words to explain.
And that’s how the day has been. Little random things causing waves of tears. I was outside planting some things my therapist gave me, and tears were flowing. I accidentally bumped my leg, more tears. David called out and asked me to come outside so he could show me something and I cried while I walked out across the garden. Then just before I got in the shower I sat on the bench in the bathroom and cried even more. Like seriously. There was no end to the tears. And it all felt like it came from a gut-wrenching sadness that had tremendous force behind it. It could not, would not, be stifled.
The day is over now. It is late, or early, depending on how you see 3am. I’m reluctant to go to bed, as I sometimes find being in a horizontal position also heightens my emotions. And I’m feeling pretty raw as it is. But we are going out of town tomorrow, for the night. On Sunday our God-daughter has her very first communion and we’d like to be there with her. My face is swollen. My eyes are bloodshot and puffy. And my mood is all over the place. But the very least I can do is attempt to get a few hours of rest. Even if that means just lying still, with my eyes closed, while my brain continues trailing off.
Stillness is not effortless for me. It takes work sometimes. Wellness takes effort and I’m trying my best to do what I have to do, even when I don’t want to. Do what you have to do to make it to see one more sunrise. 🌻
In my deepest, darkest moments, what really gets me through is a prayer. Sometimes my prayer is ‘Help me.’ Sometimes it’s a ‘Thank you.’ What I’ve discovered is that intimate connection and communication with my creator always gets me through because I know my support, my help, is just a prayer away.
Her Complex Musings 
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