Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

One week since I returned home. Spent most of it balancing settling in against new routines. I still have a few boxes to unpack,  but I’m mostly done.

During my cats visits, I intentionally sat in the spots tied to the police executing the 302 warrant. I sat on the floor where we talked. I sat on the sofa where they agreed to let scribble some phone numbers.

Where I expected trauma, it wasn’t so bad. The unexpected traumatic spot was crossing the threshold of the front door. I can hear the ratcheting sound of the handcuffs still. The click-click-click has become much louder in my mind. I am still quite anxious about being locked out so I don’t go outside much. My therapist and I are working on it.

I remind myself that even if I were wrongly 302’d again, I could endure it. My therapist and psychiatrist would get me out. My friends would give me a ride, a bed, and help me craft a plan. And I have two lawyers as well.

It wouldn’t break me.

I’m working on my home cat socialization plan. Scoop litter boxes daily, install Feliway diffusers around house, spend time in the attic to get cats more familiar with me. Always carry treats around the house. I even have two gently used chairs coming to create a living space in the attic. So I spend part of my day in living room, part in attic, part in my second floor bedroom.

Being without a car sucks. My hair needs a cut. I have bloodwork to schedule. Both are just a little too far to walk, at least right now.

I also want to go places. Eat n Park, a movie or play. I need to schedule vet appointments. Can’t do that from home.

Sometimes I turn around and see my parents ghosts sitting on the sofa. This is the last space I shared with them – my Dad helped to build our fence, my mother adored the Coca-Cola glasses and did the dishes. She had a routine to manage the steep steps to the bathroom, counting each step out loud both up and down. It’s one more step than my childhood home so she would say, “One to grow on.”

Funny the things that come to mind.

I smile to myself and then get hit with a wave of utter despair about being alone in the world. I expect this, but man, does it hurt. All the regrets, missed connections, and the overwhelming sense of relief that my parents are free from their burdens.

It won’t break me, but it hurts.

I’ve got to improve my diet. Last week, I ate an individual pizza, a prepared meal of chicken Alfredo, another of turkey and stuffing and,then I made a very large Stouffers lasagna that I ate for several nights. All fine, but noticeably lacking in vegetables. Or “sides” as my nephews call them. Last night, my wife and I cleaned out the freezer so all the frozen veggies are accessible.

I think I break from Italian-esque foods for awhile. I noticed the prepared meals from Giant Eagle were quite salty. I’ve cooked for one before, but is has been a long time. When I finished graduate school and moved into my own apartment, I bought a book ‘Healthy Recipes for Two or Just for You’ that I consulted quite often. I just dug it out of the cookbook shelf. Maybe I’ll do scrambled eggs for dinner? And order some salad materials.

I like my bedroom just fine. The paint is pretty and soothing. Not having a light or window has its pros and cons – the lack of air circulation sucks (ha!) but the total darkness makes sleeping very good. My therapist has told me total darkness is actually ideal for sleep. So there’s that.

Onward to another week.