From my journal for Wednesday, September 13
3rd cup. coffee. Feeling very odd. I’m finding it extremely hard to stay present. I had been walking Mocha for a little while when I realized I had been thinking, not paying attention to the grass and the trees. So I started paying attention. But it was hard, and I didn’t feel as connected as I usually do.
Earlier today, sitting with Jeanne at the hospital & waiting to be called, I felt bored and dismal, what was the good of anything. Nothing good or worthwhile to do, just waiting around bored until I die.
From my journal for Saturday, September 16
I’ve been reading my journal for September of last year. I’ve been recovering from low thyroid, for 3 months, I’m on 88mcg. I’m sad and despairing a lot. Also angry at myself for feeling miserable and having trouble sleeping. Trying to find compassion for myself.
From my journal for Tuesday, September 19
I want to try to write about my state of mind. Feeling extremely tired and discouraged. Today I’ve been thinking about the wolf song, and heading north “on the ancient way of honor” toward death. Wanting everything to be simpler. Had trouble with the process of ordering the cell phone. Then I had trouble with the Library Committee meeting. What they talked about — new books to get, the budget, going through all the books left as contributions — I had nothing to say. I was able to do a couple of easy projects. But I felt pretty useless.
I realized at some point that I had got blended with a younger part. One strange thing was that I was having trouble recognizing my dog as herself. I took her to the groomer, and she had a lot of matts. I had been unable to brush them out, partly from just being too tired. So they gave her a buzz cut. I still have trouble recognizing her, but everybody else thinks she looks great. Last night my friend Judith told me that when her daughter was two years old, she cut her hair about 6 inches. Her daughter was very unhappy, said “You’re not my mommy.” Then Judith talked to her and she saw that she was her mommy. Then I understood that I’m blended with a part that’s two years old. This makes me feel a lot better about my barely working brain for the last few weeks.
Went back looking and found this entry from Saturday, September 9:
Mocha doesn’t look like herself. They gave her a buzz cut. Because I wasn’t able to keep up with the matts.
So now I wonder if, when I was about two years old, my mother had her hair cut, or changed something about her looks, and I said “You’re not my mommy.” Instead of trying to convince me with affection, she got angry, perhaps went out slamming the door. That could have scared me enough that the part would have separated. Now I need to make contact with her.