Silly and scared...

Forty-eight hours. Forty-eights hours later, I am finally getting over eating that blasted pizza.  Forty-eight hours of writhing, cramping, vomiting, and unbelievable bloating.  All because I ate the pizza.  Never before has it taken this long.  Never before have I had to battle my own body for two days because of a consumption choice. I am feeling so utterly stupid.

And exhausted.  I have not slept much.

Right now, I am lying in the GREEN chair with an ice back on my head, icy-hot packs on both my elbows, a therma-care pack on my lower back, and a heating pad on my stomach.  The migraine from last Sunday will not leave, the shadow of it lingers, still coloring every moment of ever day.  My elbows hurt, more so because I was even more stupid about something.  The arthritis in my lower back is worse because I have been lying down too much over the past forty-eight hours.  And while my entire abdomen feels as if a herd of wild elephants has been stampeding across it for the past two day, I am also cold as cold can be.

Right now, I am lying in the GREEN chair, weary and afraid.  I wish that Bettina or Ethel or Mary would abandon their beloveds and cherubs, jump in a car, drive across the counrty, and sit with me.  Impossible I know.  It is just that I am here sitting here thinking all sorts of silly thoughts.  Like those icy hot patches.  They are supposed to be helping the tendinitis, but they feel...weird...like those strange chemicals are leeching into my skin and poisoning me.  Silly, I know.

And I should eat now.  I should eat something now that the battle is over.  Only I am afraid.  I know there are things I can eat that will cause no problems.  I have eaten them before.  I will do so again.  But right now, at this moment, I am afraid.  All I can think about is the past forty-eight hours. All I can think about is two nights of lying in bed weeping because all I wanted to do was sleep, but I could not because I was stupid enough to eat four slices of pizza. I should eat now.  I need to eat now.  But I am afraid.

I am afraid because I am just so bloody tired.  I am so tired that I cannot muster up happiness that the blessed Loestrin is doing its job, is back in my life, has freed me from prison once more.  I am so tired of hurting, of being confused, of battling...everything.  I am so tired of being alone.

Amos...he is a mighty puppy.  Seriously, he is a puppy among puppies.  Never before has the world known a puppy who is more affectionate, more attentive, and more eager and most willing to be with his puppy momma.  Even when I am writhing on the floor or in the bed, even when I push him away again and again and again, he keeps trying to find a spot that does not hurt me.  He keeps trying to find a way to make it so that I am not alone in my agony, in my anguish, in my fear.

I do not know why he is not tired of trying.  Truly, I do not.  I am weary of me.  As weary as I am of the nausea and cramps and puking and fainting and migraines and pain, I am also weary of having to think about seemingly everything, easy things that should be without thought.  I am weary of worry and confusion and fear and nightmares.

I am weary of battling.  I am weary of me.  And I am weary of being alone.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!