Cardinal

I woke this morning, surrounded by a lack of fur. Max, the dog, slept in Minkins spot, beside my head. The other, unicorn meat eating cats are glued to me. Last evening, about twilight, we buried Minkins in a cool and shady spot under the clover. I picked a spot thick with clover, that the bunnies love running over, when they silflay* in the evening. Some mint grows nearby, and we could smell it and the old, blasted pine tree while we dug.

Now, Minkins is a star-cat, and ghost-cat. He can travel wherever he wants now. Oh, stay by me, Star-Cat!

My comfort last night was a diet Orange Crush and a Milky Way bar. You know, the king sized version. I cried so hard my eyes swelled shut, like they do, and made it hurt to cry.

I don't cry easily: just my upbringing. And I couldn't cry when my service animal, Eddie, passed. But I have come a long way since then, and I let myself cry until I fell asleep.

It's a relief to cry. It's a blessing and a gift. Use it when you have to.

I have been going through a transition recently. I have another diagnosis that I have learned to accept. I was assaulted in January, and experienced a mental shutdown after that. The memories of the assault are coming back to me slowly.

And, just as slowly, I return to my AA meetings, and my BPD group. It's good to be back among other women, who understand. Some women don't understand. They won't get treatment. Some of them have caused me no end of grief.

But I want to be well, and healthy and whole. I am taking Geodon now, after a brief interlude with Latuda. I will let you know how it works. But today, I am ok. I have a meeting today, and a dog to walk and some cats to love. 

A cardinal lives in the tree that shades Minkins place.

*Silflay: author Richard Adams. From Watership Down. To feed in the evening, while the dew falls.