this week, raw & uncut

The other day, this was our truth:

I had abdominal surgery a few days ago.

I have three small birds and we are not in a safe place. I am still too weak and in terrible pain to take care of myself and them both. No matter how much I hurt, they depend on me. I cannot let them down.

I am too afraid and anxious to leave the room I am staying in. I can’t go into the kitchen or to the bathroom unless I know there is no threat in the house. There is only one person in the house willing to help me, but, he is usually intoxicated and often forgets and leaves me without food or water.

The people who own this house no longer want me, here. They won’t talk to me. They refused to  take me to the hospital when I begged. Instead, they left. It’s because their daughter moved back into the house.

She has threatened to hurt me on sight and destroys my things. She destroyed my vehicle. She used my personal information to open phone accounts and buy a phone the day of my surgery. She stands outside the door and says things that are not true or that mean to make me feel worthless. I try not to hear her.

No one here will protect me or make it stop.

I am trapped, today, and I feel like my birds and I are going to probably die. I have no where to go. I can barely move because of this pain. It shouldn’t hurt this way.

I am alone. I am so desperate and afraid. I would beg anyone to help me, please help me. If I have to lose my flock I have nothing. We are each other’s everything, right now. The oldest is 30 years old. My Lou. Qt has been my companion for 15 years. Alo is only 7, but he is Qt’s best friend.

I won’t leave or abandon them. I promised them I would never let that happen to them.

Please help me keep my promise to never leave them.

Please, God, help us. Don’t abandon us.

Please.

I am so afraid.

there comes a time

I, alone, cannot solve the problems I have, today. The resources and relationships required, I do not possess. Specific to relationships, I do not have any with anyone who is both sufficiently invested in the outcome of my life and in the position to suffer ‘being hungry as the dog’ confidently.
Those things I would provide myself, I cannot. Not even the most base needs did I satisfy for many more months than I want to acknowledge, here.
So, it is at this point therefore that I must decide when it is reasonable to recognize that nothing noble is hoped for in suffering, longer, still, and make a demand on behalf of whatever personal dignity remain. A demand of self-agency should I come to that moment of recognition that, if not in living, then in dying, I will have mastered something–anything–other than abject failure.

The feeling of grief is profound, conceding that I have drifted to the bottom of an unfathomable world. One, I would never completely sense I belonged at any time.

I cannot think thoughts of never touching or beholding my children, again. That may very well be my fate should I live longer than the stones I kick in the road.

If I pray for one thing, only, it will be mercy. My entire life I have asked for and received God’s mercy. Death, I hope, will not withhold the mercy my suffering begs out to be greeted, in the truest sense, silence from the living. At least the living that offer sacrifice to their gods at the altar of scarcity.

God was not unclear that ours was meant to be a life lived abundant. No belief of abundance creates a merciless world. One I would not survive under any circumstance. Mercy is, to me, the love we bring and the love we are brought.

I am not a soldier. I am not a deserter. I am a fighter that remains until my fight is done and I step down and out of the ring and into something softer, more forgiving, more true.
But God knows I will fight until I am absolutely beaten. With everything I have. So it goes with me. So it goes.

But, how long should it go? Really?