Starship Troopers

Yeah I earned my lumps. My glands are swollen behind my ears. They have been for some time. Since Christmas the lymph nodes in my groin have been massive. My GP at first thought is was because of my self injury. That burns on my legs were causing the lumps in my groin. My body fighting infection. He said they would go when the burns healed. But they remain. I have cut on my legs since so it is hard to test the hypothesis but... I have bruises on my legs from my bed and blood in my nose most of the time. It is worrisome. I need a blood test which I have the forms for but it makes me anxious. Someone looking into me, maybe they will see I am bad and dirty - all that craza shit. It's so hard. Therapist says it makes me feel out of control - it does. I have been self medicating with: Diet coke

I had a cat...

...her name was Minnow. When we first moved into our flat. Our first flat together, she was there, dancing in the garden. Balletic on her tippie toes. I was agoraphobic. At home all of the time. Jakey was allergic. She wasn't allowed in. She would miaow at the cat flap at night. We had moved into her house. And then she was allowed in, but just the kitchen, where there were no carpets. But when he was out at work sometimes I would 'accidently' let her into the front room. Gradually she moved right on in. Jakey's allergies got better. We took on this girl together - she healed us. Minnow did the 'flump' - she invented it. When you tickled her side she would drop with this amazing weight onto her side and rub all over the floor. She liked to sit on carrier bags. Boxes, jackets, anything slightly off the floor. She was a lap cat. She would sit on you and purr. She liked to get i bags and on top of the wardrobe, sit in my drawers of clothes. She brought us together, we cared for her together even when we were drunk and angry and apart. She loved us and we loved her back. I regret my anorexia because I spent those weeks away from her, and before hospital when I needed to work out it annoyed me having her climb all over me. I hate myself for that lost time. Once she got sick and we took her at night to the emergency hospital, in a box because we had no carrier. I was so scared, sitting trying to hold her in this box whilst Jakey went to call a cab for us to go home. She was okay that time but later she got sick, she stopped eating, got floppy, dejected. We took her to the vets to get her liver scanned and when we went in the evening to collect her they said there was nothing they could do. I regret so badly her last day was spent at the vets, scared, drugged, miserable. But there was nothing we could do and she was suffering. She was still wobbly from the sedatives when we put her to sleep, I hope it was a happy drugged wobbly high she went out on. Even though we gave her a life, took her in, fed her, cuddled her, loved her, somehow the last day still pains me. Maybe we should have taken her home, given her treats, let her go out happy. My parent's cat was old - and she got sick. At the end she could only lie on the floor, barely drag herself along, not eating. We were waiting for her to die but she was hurting I could tell. My Mum was working and my Dad... just wanted to shut her in the front room under the radiator and hope she did it herself. I couldn't... I felt it wasn't right. So I orchestrated for us to take her. Me my sister and my Dad. I explained the questions they would ask - would we want to take her home to bury, would we want to be there, that kind of thing. They couldn't get a vein to inject her so she had to have a huge injected in her ribcage. She growled, good for her, she was always a feisty little thing. We held her as she went. The vet was shaking - he'd known her a long time - she was a cool cat. Had attitude. You would open the door for her and she would make you wait, rubbing her scent on the door frame, before she slowley sauntered in. And she would give you a swipe if you annoyed her - though not as much as at first, she'd come from a shitty home and it took a while for her to settle. The responsibility for these precious lives sometimes is almost too much for me to bare I am writing this because... I can feel love. Purely, undestructively, just love. My therapist, who calls me sadistic, cruel, perverse (okay maybe I added that one to describe what he was saying but he didn't disagree) who likes to talk about the gleeful way I hurt myself and that there is something 'very cruel and cold' about me. I can love. I am the person who sleeps with no duvet, half way off the bed in the freezing cold so as not to move the cat. I spend more money on them then on myself, I take better care of them than myself. The therapist says I find it almost impossible and exhausting to take care of myself, and that may be true, but it doesn't mean I don't care or can't, I care for them, unconditionally, whatever they need. When I am scared to go out at night in the dark I will take them to the vets if they need it. When I am scared to walk far I will take them to the bigger further vets if they need it. When I am scared of talking to people, of dealing with feelings, of making decisions, I will do it all, hell or high water, for the little monsters. We are a cat house. There is more fancy cat stuff than human stuff. And whatever else, for all our problems, Jake is as crazy about the little furry buggers as me. It is clear as other things are murky - we love our cats, and I am so thankful to be with someone who doesn't even have to have the conversation, just knows, if he is at work and one of them is sick, my decision will be right with him too, because we are on the same page about them. I have been self medicating with: Kitty love.