Ashamed and silent...

I found the rug that fit my idea of turning the solarium into a place of solace rather than just another spare bedroom.

I found it originally at two stores for $199.  Then I found it on clearance at another store for $128.  Then I Googled promo codes until I found one that worked ($20 off a $100 or more home purchase). Finally, I borrowed money from Amos' maintenance and repair savings account and ordered it.  The rug arrived ahead of schedule today.  It is just plain perfect, if you ask me!

Between the rug and the rocking chair, it cost me $138 to go from my spare bedroom in the solarium to...

A spare bed in the solarium.  It is a difference that I have found most peaceful and restful.  Amos agrees.

Today has been a particularly rough day.  In the wee hours of the morning, about an hour after my near daily bout with violent waves of nausea started, my blood sugar crashed.  I was rather ill by the time I figured out something more was going on and made it down to the refrigerator where I shoved food into my mouth, hand over fist, after swallowing five glucose tablets.

When I have a migraine, the "after" of the migraine is quite shocking for me.  The cessation of pain is almost more than I can bear.  It is difficult to describe.  I mean, I actually struggle to believe that the migraine is really and truly over.

The "after" of a blood sugar crash is more difficult physically, than it is mentally.  Although, to be honest, I do not like how feral I am in my desperation to consume something to stop what is happening in my body during a blood sugar crash.  The "after" leaves me feeling really ill for many, many, many hours.  Sometimes more than a day.  I am weak and weary and do not feel much like eating or moving or even breathing.  I ache a bit.  And I often have a headache.  Basically, I just feel wretched.

And I am already feeling wretched.

I am so tired of late that I am barely doing anything besides caring for Amos and my physical needs, reading, and streaming some shows.  I dislike having such gaps in my online journal, but just how often can one write:  I am nauseous.  I am dizzy.  I am weak.  I fainted.  I napped.  I ate pulled pork tacos?

At first I was rather hopeful about the new antibiotic (which is actually really old school), but after several days of being better, I feel I have plateaued, with just three days left of medication.  I am breathing easier.  I have less gunk in my head.  My asthma was better.  But I am still producing fresh gunk, fresh blood, and I've been coughing again the past two nights.  All I can really do, though, is continue to pray as I take each pill.

And rest.
And rest some more.
You know, like falling asleep whilst writing this!

Electrician Man is coming on the morrow to service the AC part of the HVAC, to clean the outdoor thingamajig, and to change my HEPA filter.  Thursday is the next cardiology appointment.  I will be interested to see what impact using the recumbent bike has made ... if any.  I am more exhausted and my legs hurt every day.  I am not seeing the upside, but I know this is about heart function.  Mostly, what I care about is getting the time of my nightly testing changed from 1:30 AM!  I am thinking midnight, which means during fall/winter time change, it will be at 11:00 PM.   And Friday is house cleaning day.  Last month, The Maids had a few snafus, so I am actually not especially looking forward to them coming again, although my mother's gift of cleaning is very much welcome and appreciated.

Other than being nauseous and weary, I have been thinking ... more ... about what I have learned ... and still want to learn.

Friday, someone stopped by for a little while.  I showed her the "new" solarium and we visited whilst resting atop the daybed.  Amos, of course, joined us.  My visitor, whom Amos adores, started picking crusties out of his eyes.  The first few bits, she fed to him.  It took everything in me not to vomit.  I know he's a dog, but that was just gross!  Then she started flicking them on the floor!  That was not any better, to me.

What happened is that I found myself in that old, familiar mode:  Shut up.  Be still.  Wait until it is over.  It bothered me then, standing outside of myself and watching that.  And it bothers me now.  Why couldn't I have asked her to stop picking on Amos' eyes? 

He's my dog.  Why couldn't I just ask her to stop doing something that was bothering me?  Why do I still most often think/feel that I don't have the right to have my opinion/feelings/thoughts count?  Why did I stay silent when I wanted to speak?

This, I think, was made ... more ... to me because of the next sticky note in the research book on shame:  "Ashamed and Quiet."

"When I was in middle school, my aunt's boyfriend molested me.  I told my older sister and she told my parents.  I don't remember exactly what they said, but they called me and my sister into the living room and told us that we shouldn't talk about it with anyone.  My mom told me that she would deal with my aunt.  I don't know what happened, but I never saw him again.  My aunt never said anything about it to me.  My sister was so pissed.  She stayed made at my parents for years.  I just became a quiet person.  Ashamed and quiet." (Brené Brown, I Thought It Was Just Me [But It Wasn't], p. 7)

I know.  You are laughing.  "But, Myrtle," you blurt out, "you never shut up!"  Yes, I know.  I have heard more than I care to admit that I talk too much.  Maybe, though, I talk about nothing because I remain silent about what matters to me.  I remain silent because I grew up in silence.

I understand this woman's story.  So much of it is what I experienced.  It makes sense to me.  But what struck me was her last sentence.  I mean, I have railed against the silence about sexual abuse in our society ... and in my family.  But I don't think, until I "listened" to that woman's shame story, that I realized just how silent I am.

Ashamed and silent.
And so I natter
about nothing
when I long
to speak
and be heard.