I don’t know why that memory left me in tears, paws shaking too much to write. I don’t even know why I decided to commit that memory to this journal. I started this project with the goal of trying to suss out my thoughts and feelings surrounding Kay, and yet I keep writing about this. I keep writing about God or the Church or leaving Saint John’s.
I walked around the neighborhood afterward, trying to calm down, breathe deeply, be present. I did all the things I tell my patients to do when they panic, and I suppose some of it worked. I was at least able to look at the ground, look at the sky, look at the grass and trees and buildings and not feel this unnamed emotion.
If I had any doubt that Jeremy was right in suggesting journaling, I think it has been well and truly dashed by now.
-This feeling, then. It is somewhere between shame and guilt. It has that bitter-savory flavor to it. It makes my fur feel clumped and matted.
-If I cannot decide
+This feeling, then. It is somewhere between shame and guilt. It has that bitter-savory flavor to it. It makes my fur feel clumped and matted. Why have I changed so much since leaving Saint John’s that I cannot talk with God as I used to? I do not feel forsaken by Him, I really don’t. So why do I feel so much less in His sight than I did before?