I went to the hospital today to get some test results back. While I was sitting in the waiting room, my mind was working overtime, what to say, how I physically feel. For a while my health was stable, but at the moment it’s going south again. After talking about it with Ramon, we’ve noticed some similar things are happening in the same order as it did a few years back. And I can tell you, that sort of messes with your head. Because I really don’t want to go down that road again. And now I know that the results do not match my physical complaints, I start to worry a bit. Because even that is a carbon copy of a few years back.
So memories are coming to the surface, and I remember how I felt when I just got ill. I was so thankful to have our oldest cat, Spooky around me. At that time, I couldn’t go out of the house, because the amount of seizures were extremely high at that time. I felt like a prisoner in my own house. I made myself believe that I must have been a terrible person, and this is my punishment. Because why else would I have to live with this terrible physical pain, which made me unable to have a simple conversation with someone, to go outside when I wanted to, unable to sleep a good night’s rest, walk around the house without hurting myself, or even make myself a nice cup of tea or a hot meal without burning myself.
This lasted for three years, until finally they found the right medicine at the right dosage. During those three years, Spooky and I became the best of friends. Besides Ramon, who had to go to work during the days I didn’t have to go to the hospital, Spooky was there with me 24/7. That creates a special relationship. Yes, with our cat. Our cat wasn’t an ordinary cat anymore, I projected my thoughts and feelings on him, made him like a human being. And that’s how he saved me from going completely nuts.
So when the three agonizing years past, I could finally start some kind of living. Ramon suggested to start drawing and painting again, and to make Spooky and our other pets, my main subject, seeing they filled my hart with joy. And so I did. That’s how my stories began, but I haven’t showed you the drawings and story yet that was my first. And I don’t know why. Maybe because it contains my early drawings, and I feel that it shows, or that the story isn’t good enough, because I let myself be influenced too much by other people’s opinion. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s all because it’s just about Spooky. He is still, even though he passed away, my dearest friend who was there during my darkest days, and nothing does his memory just.
But sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, I not only thought of what to say to the doctor, but I also saw images of Spooky popping up in my mind, and thought of some drawing I made at the time, where I lay on the ground after a seizure, and Spooky, who was his royal highness in my imagination, came to aid, as he always did. That made me smile for a bit.
So why not post the very first story where it all began? Maybe it’s not a great story for some, but isn’t that the case with every story ever told? And that goes as well for art. I would only diminish the memory of Spooky, by not telling this story and show you the drawings. And all this came to mind, while sitting on one of those unforgivingly spartanian waiting room chairs, thinking of something entirely unrelated to my consult, or so I thought.
So I will sit down and put the story together with the drawings I made, so the story can finally come to life, like I initially intended to. And Spooky is yet again, near to soothe my mind.
