Life is too long
I wonder how many people ultimately die due to the death of a beloved pet. I suppose there's no way to know for certain, but I think there's a greater-than-zero chance I may end up being one of them.
It's two months today since Bucky died, and I'm still beset with soul-crushing grief and remorse. The events of his last days - and especially his last hour - still truly haunt me. On one hand I can count the number of days I have not sobbed to the point of exhaustion for the loss of my only companion in the world. Time is not healing this wound. If anything, it's festering, necrotizing. Slowly but surely, it's sapping my will to go on.
It goes beyond Bucky's death, though. Just in general, I feel like I have lived too long already. Everything that once inspired and motivated my existence is in the past. My family is gone, my otters are gone, my perfect pet is gone, and I'm completely alone and adrift now. I have no hopes nor dreams for the future anymore. In almost every way, I feel like I'm just waiting around to die. Having nothing of substance to look forward to, I yearn sometimes for death's early release. If I did it by my own hand, it wouldn't be a means of escape, though; more like self-inflicted punishment for a once-promising life thoroughly squandered and wasted.
This would change if I had someone/something to live for. Bucky gave me that. Another dog might change this, but there's no guarantee. Bucky was more like a son to me than a pet. If you lost your only son, would adopting or giving birth to another heal that wound in your soul? It might for some people, but I seriously question whether it would work for me.
I probably wouldn't actually kill myself, though. I may not have any companions in life, but I do have many friends, and I wouldn't want to subject them to the pain and grief my suicide would cause. If I died, I'd want to be remembered with fondness, not for anything negative. I do wish my life would end sooner rather than later, however. I really have nothing tangible left to live for.
And now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for today's cry. The tears I've shed already while writing this are not going to be nearly enough to satisfy this day's quota of grief...
It's two months today since Bucky died, and I'm still beset with soul-crushing grief and remorse. The events of his last days - and especially his last hour - still truly haunt me. On one hand I can count the number of days I have not sobbed to the point of exhaustion for the loss of my only companion in the world. Time is not healing this wound. If anything, it's festering, necrotizing. Slowly but surely, it's sapping my will to go on.
It goes beyond Bucky's death, though. Just in general, I feel like I have lived too long already. Everything that once inspired and motivated my existence is in the past. My family is gone, my otters are gone, my perfect pet is gone, and I'm completely alone and adrift now. I have no hopes nor dreams for the future anymore. In almost every way, I feel like I'm just waiting around to die. Having nothing of substance to look forward to, I yearn sometimes for death's early release. If I did it by my own hand, it wouldn't be a means of escape, though; more like self-inflicted punishment for a once-promising life thoroughly squandered and wasted.
This would change if I had someone/something to live for. Bucky gave me that. Another dog might change this, but there's no guarantee. Bucky was more like a son to me than a pet. If you lost your only son, would adopting or giving birth to another heal that wound in your soul? It might for some people, but I seriously question whether it would work for me.
I probably wouldn't actually kill myself, though. I may not have any companions in life, but I do have many friends, and I wouldn't want to subject them to the pain and grief my suicide would cause. If I died, I'd want to be remembered with fondness, not for anything negative. I do wish my life would end sooner rather than later, however. I really have nothing tangible left to live for.
And now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for today's cry. The tears I've shed already while writing this are not going to be nearly enough to satisfy this day's quota of grief...