Breath and Water

Tonight the house is quiet.  I hear the quiet and rythmical sounds of my dogs all breathing, all four of them in an odd harmonious and musical pattern.

 The peaceful trickling sound of the filter in my fish tank almost mimics the sound of the rain pouring off the gutters in a light storm.

Night is the hardest time for me, physically and mentally.  The strain of daily activities, such as walking my dogs and working for one hour, really sets in at night, like a thick fog settling thickly into a deep valley.

 The joint pain, nerve firing, and brain fog seep in slowly and I feel it coming on, a blanket slowly falling down to smother a kindling ember.

I was looking through my college photos tonight.  Pictures of me when Aleve still worked, when I could just mentally block out the pain, when I had my life.

 Hopes and dreams and happiness are held in those photographs.  They are images of a time when I was truly content for the only time in my life. 

I know I have plenty of things in my life "to be thankful for" and "to live for".  These are expressions I hear a lot.  I just can't help but sometimes think about the life I was leading before I got sick and before my world turned upside down.

Not a day, hour, minute, or second goes by that I don't miss working livestock, that I don't miss learning, that I don't miss feeding my brain like oxygen fuels a fire. 

Not a day, hour, minute, or second goes by that I don't miss San Luis Obispo and the magic that only those of us who have lived there know that place holds, and will forever hold. 

I try to be strong, and in fact I have people telling me that on a daily basis.  That they would never know how sick I am, I have such a tough demeanor, I always look "so pretty"...Sometimes I feel like saying to them, well I own makeup and a hair straightener....that's the trick.

Most of the time I feel like a piece of limestone: I look like a solid rock, but if you touch it in just the right place, the entire structure crumbles to small insignificant pieces of sand. 

I know tonight is just a tough night, a lonely evening, and tomorrow will be a new and hopefully brighter day, but sometimes it's important to recognize your own sadness and depression. 

Tomorrow I will be okay, and I will go about my day and do my best to look happy and stay strong, but tonight in the quiet of my house, listening to my dogs, the fish tank, I let the hot tears fall down my cheeks, and I mourn the days when I was healthy and happy, the sun seemed to always shine, and my hopes and dreams were reality.