Nighttime. My son sleeps. Satie’s Gymnopedies 1 plays. The cat is sleeping beside me. I’m so worn out from being responsive to every living thing around me I dread the presence of another.
Yesterday we came home from a visit with my 84 year old father. He has a new cat, a 4 month old kitten, that he has no idea how to treat. He has given it no toys, and shook it when it scratched him.
He is a person who cannot give care, only accept it from others. He waited until my son and I had gone to bed (after I cooked, cleaned, tidied, etc), then proceeded to play erotica at such a loud volume (“HE TOOK OFF MY DRESS AS I PANTED WITH JOY”) I could hear it from the floor below. The following morning he told me over breakfast that I was fat .
On the way back up the cat threw up on the car, making my son hysterical. Then, as we were nearly home, the cat defecated on the back seat, an event that horrified her as much as anyone else. It also meant I couldn’t rest. In 77 degrees I had to pull out the carpet cleaner and get to it, then wash it all out in the bath, then wash the bath. Then empty luggage, clean the cat of vomit, see to my son, and then rest. Only to discover we were out of milk, so I had to go out at 9.30pm again and get some.
Today, thank goodness, I had a session with my counsellor. She’s been away and I’ve been away, and so it had been awhile. After speaking to her I felt some of the knot in my stomach and in my shoulders go down somewhat, but it is hard to keep my nervous system in check. My son flares up at everything at present, and there isn’t enough hyper-vigilance on the planet to keep him or me going. I wish I had the energy to cry, but that would mean feeling the pressure had come to a conclusion, and that is not yet the case.
How are Things? 
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