Out of My Hands

It is hard to ask for help.

I really want people to pray for me because I just can’t do anything else right now. That’s when I pray, when I have to have something to do because there isn’t anything else to do.

People have asked if they could cook meals for us. They can’t. We can’t eat onions, carbs, nuts, cheese, greens, fructose, and I can’t even think of what else. So, no thank you. You can’t cook for us as much as all that might help.

I wish someone would come and walk Teddy.

I almost asked for that when a good friend asked what she could do, but then I imagined having to talk when she stopped by to pick him up. I imagined what my house looked like after two weeks of ignoring it. I imagined what I looked like.

Did I tell you about the ugly mumu? I think I did.

Colors alone. The mumu is sleeveless faded blue and white seashells with little bows at my shoulders. My cozy sleeping shirt under it is a goldenrod henley with long sleeves. The warm wooly socks my sister knitted me are green and purple. My slippers are gray and blue, but the insides are worn down to foam and the footbed is falling out in one of them. I don’t care. I need my slippers. And my hair? My hair is probably pushed up on one side or at least flat in the back where I’ve been sleeping on it.

Plus, I have a great new set of bags under my eyes.

I look like shit and I feel like shit. Even if a friend showed up to walk Teddy, something I could really use help with, I’d go all verkelmpt because people were taking care of me when I couldn’t take care of myself.

I really can’t take care of myself right now.

I can make tea. I can eat leftovers from the fridge. I don’t even feel like eating leftovers from the fridge. Shoot, I could eat anything I want right now and I don’t really want to eat much at all.

That’s probably why I have bags under my eyes.

I can sleep. I can change the channel. I can read a little, but that dream of having two weeks to just read is out of reach because I’m so exhausted from sitting upright. Even reclining feels too upright. The other day, Mike had to stay home and drive me to the doctor because every time I stood upright, I felt darkness closing in on me. He stayed with me all day. I’m still dizzy, but I’m not going to pass out now, I think.

It’s been a hard couple of weeks. I look like a homeless woman in my old mumu and stuff. I can’t take care of myself. For the first time in a very long time, my life is in other people’s hands.

Oh, I know that feeling like your life is in your own hands is an illusion, but the illusion has been stripped away. I feel death nearby. I want my life to have meaning.

I’m not sure if I’m done yet. I’ve got stuff I need to finish.

But right now, I can barely make tea, can only lounge around in my ugly mumu outfit, and I can’t even read a fucking book. I want that illusion back, that I can do this life right, that I can make it all mean something, that I’m not about to die in a pool of existential angst.

It’s time for me to ask for prayers.

Thank you for listening, jules