Sharon's going to be coming more often; I'm glad. In some respects, she's like a second mother, yet different too. We share ideas and interests and can talk well.
I've been awfully fatigued lately. All day I can barely keep my eyes open, and writing is an incredible chore. I find myself nodding in the middle of thoughts; it's very distressing when I consider the time limit imposed on my effort drawing closer as the days fold away… naturally, my life has a hesitant grasp on time; I do wish to finish my literary endeavor.
Sleep at night is difficult, which does not sound logical after the fact that I fight to stay awake during the day, but so be it. It's not mine to ask "why."…
June 24, 1986… Such indignities. Dependency shouldn't have to be one, yet it is. And the strange thing is that I feel I am losing myself… slowly… as life trickles from my body, but still, with all that has been and will be lost, every so often I catch a glimmer of myself… in a gesture, a smile, and realize that the core is intact despite the withering exterior. Perhaps the core is that undefinable part of oneself that lives beyond earthly existence.
June 27, 1986… I'm beginning to understand the meaning of intolerable. Sometimes, any more, I feel like a person tottering on sanity's limits. As my weakness increases, my capabilities decrease; I now not only have confined myself to my room, but to one small quadrant thereof, in which I am surrounded by my bed, my chair, my T.V. and (of course), my toilet. At least my mind is still free. Perhaps it will remain so as long as I allow myself to cry and feel. Last night was the first time I ever felt scared of life.
June 29, 1986… Tonight is loud with thunder… the deep, sharp rumbling that shakes the house as if to remind the world that it is alive. It is not subtle, but in it's brazen clap, I can find a reason to rejoice; I live in the shadows of a wondrous and beautiful world, yet thunder is one element of nature from which I have not been excluded, for it penetrates walls.
July 9, 1986… It seems that I cry every day now. Overall, my life is a discouraging mess. I'm just too tired to write. . . and scared to try to sleep. Blast.
July 11, 1986… (Fri.) Yesterday Sharon sent me a carnation flower arrangement. . . 2 pink carnations, greens and baby's breath. Real pretty.
It's been getting more and more difficult at home. Last night Mom and Dad had to lift my legs into bed; Mom is sleeping in my queen-size bed right with me so that she can help me get back in after using the toilet. It's tough to sleep, and I'm afraid I won't be able to get out of bed… my arms and legs are virtually useless. They're like sticks. We had some tough conversation.
(Mother's note). . . Laurie wanted me to call Hospice and arrange for someone to come to the home and explain the various programs available. I did so. Laurel Anderson was willing to come on Saturday morning, but I felt this was not within her scheduled working hours and deferred the appointment to Monday morning at 11:00 A.M.