I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me. In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted. (Psalm 77:1-2) ............................................ A journal chronicling my struggle as a woman, to find my way out of an abusive relationship, and to find myself again.

My Photo
Location: Georgia, United States

Tuesday, June 01, 2004


It's 5:32AM. Went to bed, but couldn't sleep. My monkey mind is busy, busy. So many, many thoughts, but not one connected to another.

When I was really sick, a long time ago, a voice in my head was always asking, "What do you want, Katie?" Another, smaller voice always answered, "Sugar!" Even before that, often when making a list, of anything, the first thought that came, the first item to write,was Sugar! I still don't know why. What did that little voice want? A lollipop? A sweet comfort? An ice cream treat from the Mr. Softee man? In any case, I heard the little voice again tonight. I wish I understood. Sugar is a funny thing for a diabetic to want.

Oh, what DO I want? I'm reading a book, The Forest Lover, by Susan Vreeland. There's a quote from Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass: "through anger, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui, what you are picks its way." I wish I could have some assurance that I am picking my way towards something, some 'real' me. Otherwise, the "anger, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui" was and is just so much spent energy. I don't mind ending up as spent energy, but I would like to know I accomplished something, anything, before I end up that. I would like to know that I found an authentic person, and lived true to that.

I want quiet. No TV, constantly blaring murders and ugliness. I want music. I want to eat healthful things, but that is out of my reach just now. It's not a matter of choosing to forgo something in order to have the right food. It's a matter of simply having enough food to fill my families stomachs. I hate that. I blame Dale, maybe unreasonably so. When it was just Abby and me, we ate right. We had peace here. We talked and laughed until we ached. I slept soundly, alone in my bed. I wrapped myself in a blanket on cold nights and talked to the deer. I walked by the river. I worked on my art, which I have no inclination to do now. I keep thinking of my mill picture, waiting to be finished, and I wonder if I'll ever feel quiet enough inside to finish it. I miss my art classes.

Our car is dead. That is something that is finished. A cracked head; water in the oil. I think I will call Social Security tomorrow and ask about the status of Dale's application. I just don't see how we can go on this way much longer. Every day is just one more day of waiting, and I can't bear it any longer. Every day I think I can't stand it one more day, and every day ends as just 24 more hours of waiting, finished. I don't want to get out of bed anymore. It hurts too much. I wake up exhausted.

I've taken a Valium, (which I found out last week that Medicaid will no longer pay for) and feel it beginning to work. I'll go back to bed now, and sleep until I have to get up and wait some more.



Post a Comment

<< Home