I was able to go to church today. I was not sure how that would be because my church has been serving the community and being the hands and feet of Jesus like crazy and I could hardly take care of myself.
Only a few cords into the first worship song and my world was made right. As soon as I turned my face towards my God, the grime and guilt for not being impossibly perfect washed away as easily as the dirt and sweat did during my first shower after 3 days with no water and power.
So many people that I looked at as powerhouses for God said some of the same things I did. A friend even confessed in a hushed tone that she only made it through each night because she was taking Zanex and was concerned she was addicted.
I laugh at her addicted and told her I drank at night hoping to usher in sleep and when that did not work, I chased the alcohol in my bloodstream with strong coffee until the 2 drugs mixed and countered and fought against each other until I added more of one or the other in a crazy dance that had no real rythem.
Everywhere I went, the conversations revolved around one fact; power. Do you have power? When did you get power? Who do you know that has power? I go to a megachurch and during service we were asked to raise our hands if we had power back. Only about 40% of us did. Then those who did not have power were asked to raise their hands and to look around the massive sea of hands raised was almost like getting hit in the stomach. This would be day 7 for them. My mother and brother are included in this group.
I alternate between walking around without turning on the lights because after the first 2 days when you keep flipping switches and getting nothing you learn to stop, and turning on anything and everything whether I need it or not.
Here I was trying to go green and most of the time now, that is all out the window. I turned on 4 lights to make my coffee this morning. Absolutly no need but it is almost like I am trying to make up for the light I missed out on. I turned the a/c lower than I normally have it on and I tried to make brownies on the stove (damn you Pancake Puffer!!!) and told my daughters I could not do it because the heat was making me angry. Then I put them in the oven and forgot to set the timer and burned the crap outta them. So sad. Burned brownies is sad.
I saw a friend who is a counsiler and asked when the PT SD support group was and she was like, yeah, we all need that! At least I am not alone in my crazy. I know I was up close and personal with Katrina but I did not loose everything I owned. Good thing because this experience may very well have been harder for me. I am starting to feel a little back on track though and at least now I remember that better is one day in God's court than a thousand elsewhere.