He's Gone.
I never use this page. I'm not cool enough for people to care what I post. What I write. So here I am. Writing to an electronic journal because my hands are too fucked for me to write normal and quite frankly, I don't want my words to be that tangible. The words I create here aren't as concrete. And so I'll take them.
My dog is dead. And I don't know how to do this.
I don't know how to grieve, or even if I'm doing it right. I don't know what is okay to do what I feel like my heart is disintegrating inside of my chest. I feel so lonely without him. Feel guilty for not loving him more, treating him better. It hurts watching my boyfriend love his dog because I can't love mine and I can't look beneath the desk and to his special pillow and see him there, sleeping, breathing, dreaming.
He doesn't follow me to the kitchen, like always. And sometimes I can even hear his little claws tap against the tile, but then I turn around, and I'm alone and it's so tangible that I can do nothing but stand and stare and wait until this wall of pain washes away once more. And all I want is for someone to talk to me about it. I want to explain in great detail what I feel and how I felt and what happened and how he died...in my arms and how I couldn't save him. I want to cry and get angry and hit things and throw my glasses down on the floor because I can't see through my tears anyways...
I want him to be back. I want to be selfish and have him with me. But he isn't in pain, he knows not of it, and that is the only thing that makes this easier. The only salve to my wound. Because no words my Mother speaks (and she speaks as though I'm seven and have lost my first pet, experienced my first death and it makes me so fucking angry) will ever make this easier.
Nothing in this world will make this pain less.
And no one is even fucking trying. Not even for me.
I didn't think it was too much to ask for, you know, sympathy. In this day and age...fuck. I guess it's almost obsolete.
My dog is dead. And I don't know how to do this.
I don't know how to grieve, or even if I'm doing it right. I don't know what is okay to do what I feel like my heart is disintegrating inside of my chest. I feel so lonely without him. Feel guilty for not loving him more, treating him better. It hurts watching my boyfriend love his dog because I can't love mine and I can't look beneath the desk and to his special pillow and see him there, sleeping, breathing, dreaming.
He doesn't follow me to the kitchen, like always. And sometimes I can even hear his little claws tap against the tile, but then I turn around, and I'm alone and it's so tangible that I can do nothing but stand and stare and wait until this wall of pain washes away once more. And all I want is for someone to talk to me about it. I want to explain in great detail what I feel and how I felt and what happened and how he died...in my arms and how I couldn't save him. I want to cry and get angry and hit things and throw my glasses down on the floor because I can't see through my tears anyways...
I want him to be back. I want to be selfish and have him with me. But he isn't in pain, he knows not of it, and that is the only thing that makes this easier. The only salve to my wound. Because no words my Mother speaks (and she speaks as though I'm seven and have lost my first pet, experienced my first death and it makes me so fucking angry) will ever make this easier.
Nothing in this world will make this pain less.
And no one is even fucking trying. Not even for me.
I didn't think it was too much to ask for, you know, sympathy. In this day and age...fuck. I guess it's almost obsolete.