Then and now...

I feel as terrified and alone today as I did this day last year.  I shouted for help then and primarily was greeted with silence.  I shouted for help two days ago and was primarily greeted with silence.  This day.  This wretched, horrid day.

As I said in my post here and on the Sweet Pea Society blog, my body has been dealing with this day for a while now.  Surely there is no coincidence to the spate of migraines that have come my way of late.  I am not sure I would add the innards turmoil to the toll, but the fatigue, surely.  For it has taken much of energy to hold a positive perspective on this day, on July 12, 2011, and on the wounds Amos and I still bear.

I think about that day.
I think about the pit bull.
I think about all the pain and terror of then that lingers still now.
And I think about how alone I have been through this long battle.

During the five day power outage, Amos and I camped out in my realtor's basement, soaking up the air-conditioning.  Since her yard is open, actually right smack up against her woods, each time we had to go outside for Amos' needs, he had to go on a leash.  I struggled more with watching Amos disappear into his misery than I did with the actual heat and lack of sleep since I was on a couch the whole time.

Amos hates the leash.  All I have to do is pick it up and he will scamper away from me.  He looks for a place of safety and then tucks his front legs beneath his body.  Each time I put it on him, he then goes limp.  Only once have I been able to get him to voluntarily walk out the front door whilst in the leash.  As the days wore on, Amos became more and more passive, more and more miserable, and more and more withdrawn.  You can see here that he was not his usual self.  I start weeping whenever I see this photo.

Once home again, it took several days for my puppy to shed the gloom that had come over him having to face his terror repeatedly throughout the day.  I missed my puppy dog and was so thankful when his usual rambunctious, mischievous self returned.

So much was taken from us both that day.  We are changed in many and myriad ways.  I would hope that eventually we both might be stronger in mind and in body.  I do not see that happening, though.  Perhaps better at enduring.

But, in any case, we were both alone in our fear and in our memories this day.  Bettina did finally call in the early evening.  I suppose it is rather churlish of me to admit that by then I could barely contain my disappointment.  I posted about the stress and strain of this day on Facebook on Tuesday, in the hope I would not be alone.  I shamed myself in being so vulnerable publicly...only to have this day really matter to just Amos and I.

The truth is, I long for a support system.  I long for a passel of people to rally around me when my innards are writhing, when my shame is overwhleming, when my fears are rising,  But there is no Team Myrtle...just a friend who carries such a heavy burden for me...and who also longs for a team to share the load of being my friend, my family really.  People keep telling me I should have folk to take me to appointments and such, to help me out with groceries and errands, to support the healing process I have embarked upon.  But I do not.  I am not the sort of person that engenders such.  I am, given how hard it is to shop now, thankful that I can sometimes ask my neighbor to push me about in a wheelchair and sometimes ask my new friend to bring the groceries in from the car.  But just as I have had to live with the whole of the pit bull attack, day in and day out primarily by myself, just as I had to sit, week after week, in the courtroom all by myself, I have to go to procedures and tests and appointments all by myself.

I know...I know that my emotions are coloring my spirit at the moment, but I also know that that day, I screamed for help before the pit bull even made it to the start of the block of the corner where we were standing.  I screamed and screamed and screamed before anyone responded.  I fought with my entire being to keep Amos alive, stumbling and staggering to my feet, lurching as if I were unbelievably drunk, feeling as if I were drowning.  I fought alone.  Right now, this day...and all the ones fore and aft...I fight alone.

I fight alone because no matter how much I ask for help, no matter how much I shame myself in revealing my weakness, the pit bull attack is over for everyone else in my life save for my puppy dog.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!