2/04/2016

death & loss//moving on...?


ease my troubles, that's what you do

Sometimes, you get really lucky and you meet someone who makes your life infinitely better. With them, anything could happen and it just rolls off you. As long as you have them you're fine. I had that. Maxy was that.

I know many people think dogs are just dogs. I know she was a dog. I know I attached my own stuff onto her. But, still, regardless, she was my safe haven. Even after Bailey was born. It was Maxy. She was abused. So was I. I guess, I felt like I needed to save her and in doing so I'd save myself. I clung to her happiness as if it was my lifeline. I needed her life to be great. And it was. She was four when we rescued her from the shelter. We had so many great years with her. Yet... she escaped from our house and was hit by a car on a highway, perhaps even a truck, and the great speeds caused her body to be no longer and the pieces of her, inside, became one with her outside and that memory sticks with me.

I had PTSD from childhood, this I know now, but Maxy and the last image of her made it that much more vicious. Driving in cars gives me so much anxiety that sometimes I can't breathe. Seeing blood, menstural or a blood test even, makes me dizzy and nauseous. I can't think of death. I'm so terrified of it now that I live, mostly, in this childish daydream. I'm half of who I was before.

Sometimes I hate her. She wasn't the kind of dog who escaped from backyards. She didn't like cars. She hated going on walks for goodness sake. She hated thunder so, the only thing I can think is when the thunder clapped while she was in our back yard she tried to run away. But... at first did she try the back door? Did she need me? And why did I even let her out? Shouldn't I have known that it could possibly start to rain?

Or was she escaping from Husband and I since we'd been fighting lately? Or was she feeling as though she'd been replaced? Or was she so miserable that getting split into pieces was more tolerable than living with me? 

And that's the thing. I have always felt like that. That I am unlovable. And even when my parents and siblings told me they loved me I never believed it. I push people away. I just can't believe that anyone would love me, so, when Minnie died that was the final nail in my coffin. The unlovable, worthless, tomb.

*

It's been three years now. I still feel the concrete as I collapsed to it. I still feel the tears and taste the rain. I still see her insides. The only way I get through life is to pretend she never existed. I have a framed photo of her by my bed but I fucking hate her urn. I have a Minnie Mouse that reminds me of her. But I can barely say her name and reminiscing about the good times is unbearable.

Does it get easier?

I miss her. I want to remember her. She deserves it.

I wonder if death means never moving on? Is it just pushing that person out of your mind until they flicker in the back?  Is it just muddling about in the world without them and only ever getting out of bed because you've tricked yourself into thinking they never existed? Is it forcing yourself to pretend until the imagined becomes the truth? Is it never really truly celebrating the life that meant so much? 


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be nice. unless you can be cake and then always be cake.