“Write hard and clear about what hurts” – Hemingway
I feel small. I want big hands to hold me. Arms to wrap around me. A gentle hug. A blanket. A warm cup of tea. Some soup. Some kindness. Compassion.
I have to give it to myself. DO it for me. No one else will. Or maybe I don’t let people give it to me.
At the least, I sure as hell am not going to ask for it.
I learned something about helping people from this experience. Don’t ask them if they want the help. Just help them.
Because I will always say, “No, I am fine. I can handle it.”
But damn, how much did I need someone here, just to be here, without me having to ask.
My body hurts.
I am not giving it time to rest.
I look like shit
My face is still puffy from anesthesia. My belly is swollen. Everything aches deep inside. It hurts to walk, sit, stand too long. I want to lay down, but I can’t stay down.
I just sang my daughter to sleep.
I love her more than life itself.
My new thing-
Is that thought helpful?
I am reading about ACT, and it’s helpful.
I just took a narcotic.
God willing, I will sleep tonight.
I should say, Codeine willing, I will sleep tonight.
Last night, not so much.
I read National Geographic at 3 am.
THE TRUTH IS:
I WANT TO BE WITH SOMEONE I CAN HAVE MORNING SEX WITH.