A Pale Cat and Frustration

Tomorrow I am going to write a letter, that I will deliver in person to my Medicaid coordinator’s boss. He gets a copy too. He has had weeks to respond to my calls. I have left voicemails. He called once, but hasn’t acknowledged since Adult Protective Services told him what was going on. He knows the situation. I am running out of time, to find a place to live.

Too, I am worried for William. I woke up a week ago and he was pale. I’ve never seen a cat that was pale before, but his carrying of the Albinism gene allowed me to see it. His nose was whiter than his fur, which is extremely white. He was sick. His body was cold, and even the pads of his paws had turned white. He let me hold him for a time but I put my hand on his stomach, and it hurt him.

I called the vet but with no money I was denied care for him, and I was left with hoping that he would recover. No suspsense is needed in this blog, he recovered. He ate an entire q-tip and managed to safely pass it. Every day since then I have woken, and immediately checked to see if my cat is pale.

Sprite has been more and more clinging, she cares for me too much at times, and yet there is never enough of it for her. Today she was so funny, that when I lifted her she put her paws out and struck the Superman flying pose. I will have to get a picture of this someday, because it was the most wonderful moment. It brought a laugh back into this apartment.

With all of the tragedy that I have been dealing with there is still hope. Most of what I own is boxed up, only two of my valuable items were lost forever, and although one is the stuffed rabbit that was a family heirloom, I am still glad to just be alive. That’s all I have to cling to right now, my Eviction is emminent, but I am alive.

I have learned that there are still gaping flaws with the foodstamps cards in my area. I cannot change my pin before they mail it, but with all the mail disappearing, I do not want it sent to me. I am not sure how I am to eat, because with my food allergies I cannot just get a food box. That’d be wasteful. I will not waste what could help others when the entire country is facing eviction as well.

This blog post has no happy ending yet but I am working on it. I know my foodstamps will accrue, so that I can stock my kitchen once I find one. I know too once I have a place to land I can resume trying to get the other needs I have met. I haven’t really been lonely. K has helped with that, she’s a vibrant woman and her presence has helped me to fight off the depression that I have been struggling with.

Soon, I will even update my photograph. I am cutting my hair as it is getting caught in my wheelchair and I keep sitting on it, which is painful and dangerous. I am also dying it black. I don’t know if I will look good or not with black hair but, I am looking forward to the change. Yes my red hair is naturally beautiful but, right now I am also not wanting to stand out. I will anyway, I can’t help it. It’s just who I am.

I know one other thing. When I move, I will resume writing my novel. I felt it today, the spark in my mind of creation. It’s still there. Just as the music has returned. Now all I need is to be able to go outside without feeling as if my life is in danger.

What makes the world go round?

I have had time to think, between the cleaning. My apartment, this temporary shelter is now clean. I look at it and if I could just feel safe, I know I could stay. I could live here.

I cannot open my door alone, every white van that drives by, it has me jumping out of my skin. Plus, the rat things that were here could return. I cannot stay.

I have reminisced too, thinking on what I was, what I could be. I keep going back to that fateful day when I became irrevocably disabled, when I couldn’t escape it any longer. Yes, I thought I was able bodied, but it was a lie. I was merely Temporarily Able Bodied.

I’ve played it out in my head, the moments, each heart beat. I remember the lift of the van seat, and tried to see what would happen if I had just flowed with the van. It’s a dramatic opera in my head, like an underwater ballet.

The crash of glass is added in, as I, not yet buckled when the accident hit, go through the window. I die in this scenario, the children too. Nothing is better. It is in a way worse. It is worse because of the potential I would’ve stiffled.

It’s the what if game. What if I had made a different choice? Would I still be pent up? Would I still be burdened by fear? Would i still have met my now Ex?

I don’t know. Too many unknowns leave shadows in the game, it lets my mind run wild. None of the alternative scenarios are good. Most of them end in a gory death. I turn my imagination off and wonder too, the what if’s of the future.

What if they cure my disorders? Will it be an in the womb cure? Eugenics? Do I want them cured? Then I back track into that past of mine again, dodging the shadows of terror, to acknowledge my disabilities have saved me too.

I cannot change the past, and again am reminded, I do not want to. I want to be just me. I like who I am. I like knowing what makes me tick. If I changed the past, I would be someone else, and I do not think I would be happy, if alive.

This too reminds me of the cure, if they were to cure this body, it would take an erasure of my own history, which would again alter me. Without my memories do I lose my essence? Probably.

I am tough, and I can be out and out mean. I have had to let this meanstreak run. Oh, I may make a few barbed jokes here and there, but while cleaning this temporary shelter, while digging my way out with the help of K my new care giver, I have had to be cruel.

I cannot return every single thing he has bought to him, because I do not have room to store it all. I am still astounded at the amount of trash that one person can accumulate. We went into the storage area today, I secretly long to find my missing stuffed rabbit. The only vestage of my childhood. I know she’s gone forever. I know he likely desecrated her.

I am going to do something wicked too. I am going to live. I will find a place that I can go, I will find a place where I can thrive. Today, I renew myself, fertile grounds to grow in. The seeds of who I am are planted, and although I have had many winters in this life, as the world I live in turns to fall, my own heart begins a spring.

I dream of feeling safe. I dream of freedom. I dream of walks on sunny days. I dream of taking the cats out to play. I dream of small children visiting me. I drema too, of the stories I will write. When I am moved, I can return to my novel. I can feel safe enough to let myself play.

Today, I plant the seeds of dreams. I set new goals. They are all short ranged goals, but they are goals. I will survive. I have survived. I am surviving.

My Name:
by Kateryna Fury

My name is not victim.
My name is not survivor.
My name is not Woman.
My name is all these things and more. My name is life.
My name is Joy.
My name is Love.
My name is freedom.
My name is strength.
My name is mine.

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