• Mathura Hawley

help

Updated: Aug 2, 2021


So not until yesterday, five days into sickness and two days after I almost suffocated, did I get into my truck with Luke, and drive four blocks to Walgreens, where I bought a bag of over the counter medications which have helped me considerably."

On Thursday morning at 3 am, I woke up choking on phlegm and gasping for breath, and my lungs would not open. Even my stomach was pulled tight and would not move. It frightened me and I panicked, making it worse, and almost passed out. I quickly made hot tea, sat up in a chair, and gradually the fluid drained out of my lungs and I could force some air in and out. I had been very sick with night sweats and wet lungs for four days, endured layoff announcements at my company, and was very conscious that it was one year ago that Om moved out and left Luke and I alone to wonder why. It was a truckload of weight to bear, and I went down hard, letting it all in which made me even sicker. It took me five days of suffering to get to the pharmacy for medication. Do I favor pills and sprays over diet and holistic care? No, but that is not why I didn’t go. I have a deeply seeded aversion to asking for help or feeling deserving. When I was a kid, my family kept a pact of silence on going to Disneyland, as it would have made us seem wanting or desirous beyond our caste. My father, rarely ill, had no knowledge or interest in medications beyond Pepto Bismol, which he doled out to us after every gas war staged by my brother, a stubbed toe, or a sad mood. Anything else would have been a statement of weakness or entitlement. My mother, generous with her time and attention, would squirm with discomfort at the mention of feelings or problems (aka Irish Complaining) and felt any kind of therapy was an attack on a mother’s good intentions. The emotional austerities of my parents resulted in a couple of bad scenarios in our house: it became a breeding ground for sarcasm, which is humor that wields truth like a knife, and the development of an aversion to asking for help of any kind or admitting we were in need. So not until yesterday, five days into sickness and two days after I almost suffocated, did I get into my truck with Luke, and drive four blocks to Walgreens, where I bought a bag of over the counter medications which have helped me considerably. I sought help. Last night, to make a gesture of my belief in a higher healing power, I slept on pillows on the floor of the upstairs devotion room with the Deities, Kirtan playing, holding a book on inward journeys, and Luke around my legs. Again, I sought help. I put my head down to the floor and admitted to Krishna what I had realized. And I now know this: my week was a small but scary metaphor. I never ask for help for whatever I am going through, and someday it may be too late. I had intentionally waited to go into the room of devotion until I was all better. I didn’t want to ask God for help because it felt selfish. I think I have been avoiding that room lately because I'm not perfect, and I felt ashamed. Maybe that is why I keep apologizing to him later instead of taking his lead. From now on, I go there first. And the struggle to take care of things which are not required of me will finally end. I will be in a better place to understand what is and what is not my job. Maybe then I will be able to breath, deeply, all the time.


Hear when a new post
goes up

Thanks for submitting!

  • Facebook
  • Instagram

DB Honeybutter Podcast

DBH Logo.png

Mathura hosts an LGTBQ+ Podcast featuring guests who've been through some shit 

No tags yet.

POST ARCHIVE