The Bow and the Target

I have not been doing so great. The first morning it dropped into the 40’s, I pulled out a long sleeved shirt and spent the next 15 minutes sobbing because the last time I wore that shirt, Rasputin was alive. My heart has been racing at night while I try to fall asleep. My body hurts all the time.

I’m not going to give birth to my own children, it’s too late for me. I poured all that love and attention into my cats. The enormity of what I’ve lost comes in waves. I cry every day. Since I have been in such a state, I have backed out of socializing. I feel like such a downer and can’t guarantee that I have a handle on crying. If I get sympathy, it’s all over - waterworks central.

I also have a handy bunch of avoidance techniques: drinking and computer games. Designing a house and family in The Sims feels calming and enjoyable. With enough wine, I might be able to grab a full night’s sleep. Going for days with these ultimately makes me feel worse! It’s like they dam up the flood of sadness for a limited time.

Stella has become a very needy affectionate kitty. Of course there’s still the biting and apologetic licks (she’s still a tortoiseshell). She hates being picked up and held but lately she tolerates it for me, it seems. Rasputin was a huge snuggler - he’d climb up my body and just lie under my chin. I miss that so much, I’m considering getting a 14 lb bag and covering it with fur material so I can at least get the tactile comfort.