Gone Fishing, To a Psychic, & Illness Strikes Twice


Friday, I chose to rest, hoping to recover from the week’s emotional and physical trials. I knew now I’d need tests, which was additional stress, but stress I was prepared to endure if they meant answers and solutions.

Gone Fishing

Saturday, I finally allowed myself to feel sadness, missing my friend who left for Wisconsin. Learning to accept that friends is all we can be has been hard, but worth doing. He’s onward to amazing things, and so am I, I hope, but we aren’t moving in the same direction at the moment. On Saturday I cried, and took a walk. It was a beautiful day, and I was feeling a little sensitive but lively. Out with my Mom, we stopped to sit by the river, a bike-path and a park adjacent to it. While there, whimsy entertained us, and we met a boy, an aspiring herpetologist, who caught a well-nourished green frog, and he assured us he’d put it back as soon as he showed his mom. We also met an older gentleman eager to teach me to fish (I have been fishing before, but I’m no expert). I caught a small blue-gill which we promptly threw back after appreciating its gorgeous scales (we let the fish keep the worm, of course). The fisherman confessed that after mounting an impressive catch on his wall, he vowed to never keep another fish he caught again. He said the fish he’d treated like a trophy would’ve been a mature fish for its size, and that “you don’t get that big by being stupid.” He regrets it to this day that that fish isn’t still swimming where he caught him. In fact, the trophy he gave away to a friend, not bearing to look at it. Afterwards, I got home feeling generally better, and happy that I forced myself to see the world outside of myself for a while.

… To A Psychic

Sunday, I saw a psychic, an Angel Reader more specifically, the one I’ve been going to for a while. I see her quite exclusively, because in conjunction with whatever message she might receive for me, she accompanies that message with helpful advice and insight. She’s a calming person to be around, and I value her for more than her intuitions. She’s seen me through hard transitions, especially of the romantic kind, and she helps me without judging me. She is nurturing, and speaks to me like an equal. Whether or not you, reader, believe in psychics, I think a person like this in one’s life is indispensable. What I mean by that is she’s a person who helps me by providing an objective perspective, advice that helps me to keep a positive and productive outlook on my life, and she helps me keep in touch with my spirituality, and make peace with the unknown, and the greater scheme of things. A person like that, whether in a psychic, a teacher, a mentor, or a therapist is invaluable, each specifically helpful to individual needs.

Illness Strikes Twice

Monday, I came down with a swift and terrible cold, and so left work 15 minutes early as soon as I was done with what I needed to finish. And I slept.

Tuesday, sick and in bed, I meditated on healing thoughts, because I could not have a raging cold and take the last of my prescribed tests. In fact, due to my upcoming tests I could not take normal pain killers or cold medicines. I was limited to Tylenol, and help from the Universe. I needed to kick this thing.

Wednesday, I was substantially better than the night before, but had to prep for the next round of tests, and so was on a liquid diet for the day, and we’ll leave it at that to spare the details. My mood survived at a convenient neutral with the help of (Spoiler Alert!) Daphne and Niles, finally professing their love for each other on the 90s sitcom, Frasier. Guilt-free, I admit to watching all eleven seasons for the third time around.

Thursday, the (hopefully) last round of tests. The nurses were incredibly kind, and even found me funny, which always lightens my mood. My parents were also supportive, and gentle. In spite of the anxiety I knew they were experiencing, they did their best to hide it from me. So far, the prognosis is favorable, and I’ll know officially in about a week. Relieved that this is likely something manageable without long-term or high-stakes consequences, they ate hearty at lunch, and I ate light, now developing a habit of asking for a to-go box no matter the size of the serving, respecting that my stomach may be the right size, but the system might not be up for the challenge. I’m feeling optimistic, and comforted by the fact that so many of my friends have wished me well today. I guess that’s the silver lining of the storm cloud of illness: you find out that people you wouldn’t have guessed really do care.

Advertisements

I’m Wrong & Worried Sick

An Update: I Was Wrong

The last day has been draining. After not hearing back from him in 24 hours, no reply to the answer to a question he had asked, I started to worry. I messaged him ironically, “It’s been 24 hours, please let me know you’re alive, and I’ll leave you be,” assuming he was sick of me.

Last night I found out he is indeed ill, and in the hospital even. I got woozy. I feel I should set the record straight. I don’t know what to think anymore… Were the two prior postponements due to feeling ill? Have the precedents set by other men before him ruined my ability to be objective? The one time I refrain from granting the benefit of the doubt, he turns out to be telling the truth.

I’m far more jaded than I realized, the hurt from the past deeper than I thought. I quickly judged a friend, who, in my defense, has withheld what’s been happening in his life from me in general, only adding to my lack of trust, but my judgement made in fear of another rejection weighed the most in mind, in spite of perhaps emotionally knowing better. My prior hurts the loudest voices in my brain.

Why did this time have to be different? I wish he was lying. Right now, I wish he was like all the others. Instead he’s sick, and I’m worried sick.

How did I choose to be happy today? Well, before I knew he was telling the truth, and the prognosis, I danced while no one was watching, releasing the emotional pain, and the stress from work. Disjointed movements, and pained gestures, lyrics to “Somebody Else” by the 1975, and “One” by Ed Sheeran both felt like painful fantasy, the fantasy that I meant more to the people who’ve left me than I know I do.

In spite of feeling like hell, I managed to feel a release. I let go, I stopped caring about what I looked like. I just moved with the music, my sweat a cleanse of toxic emotions.

The evening took a turn upon the news. I’m still in shock. I’m still worried. I don’t really know how I’ll choose happy tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow will have to be measured distress. I’ll try to stay calm. I don’t think I’m capable of more.