I feel better than before, but ever since I lost my dog there has been a shadow on my soul. Will it ever get completely better?
Meet Our Fur Ball, Tucker June 26, 2013
Meet Tucker. He is a Shih Tzu just like Sophie, and just like Riley was. He is adorable and has a sweet nature, but is feisty enough to hold his own with the “grand-pups” when they come over. I think it is okay that I am not bonding with him right away like I have my other dogs; he seems to like hubs, and they have bonded nicely. I’m fine with that; I just want the little guy to have the love he deserves. It’s not that I don’t like him; I really do. I just know my heart is not in it. I will grow to love him more because that is my nature; I am and always will be an animal lover.
Sophie is still avoiding Tucker. We are trying to help her out of her depression. The vet said to give her time, and to make sure she gets to do some favorite things. I bought her favorite chew toy today, and she got to go for not one, but TWO rides in the car. She seems content at the moment. As I am typing this, she is lying beside me chewing her toy. Tucker is playing on the floor with hubs, playing tug-of-war.
As for me, I had to get out of the house today. I got up early and went grocery shopping (I know, not exciting, but it gave me something to think about). At 10:00 I broke down. Riley died at 10:00 a week ago today. I also cried when it thundered because Riley was scared of thunder. After multiple breakdowns, we decided I needed a distraction so hubs took me to see a movie and then we went out to eat. It did help, so at the moment I feel more peaceful than I did earlier.
I’ve tried doing art, but it all turns to shit. I cannot force it; art (or writing, for that matter) has to come from somewhere deep inside. Even my photographs seem flat. Hopefully I will find that spark again, because it is the best emotional release I have.
Real Love June 21, 2013
I understand now. I know why I have such a deep, real love for dogs. I understand why I love and trust dogs more than I do humans.
Dogs love. Unconditionally, no-holds-barred LOVE. They love so completely, they give so freely, that I trust them. Humans, however, always have an agenda. We all do. Humans have ulterior motives whether we realize it or not. It’s not a shameful thing; it is just the way it is. It’s just the way we are.
I learned a very long time ago to never fully give my heart to another human. But I handed over my heart and soul to Riley because he knew me, he accepted me, and he loved every part of me without reservation.
My little dog Riley died Tuesday. I’m hurting worse than I ever have before. The pain is physical and intense.
The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. Life is moving on, but my heart is shattered beyond repair. I know I love my little Sophie, and I know I will love another pup someday, but never, ever will there be another Riley.
Life Goes On June 1, 2013
She refused to do anything about the rape. After that day, she didn’t want to talk about it. J is much like me in her ability to bury things deep inside. It kills me to see her do that, because I know what burying secrets does to you. The secrets come out at night and haunt your dreams. They creep up randomly in the middle of the day and make you unable to breathe. Secrets that you keep buried eat away at your soul, swallowing it bit by bit. Trust me, I know.
But burying secrets is a way to survive and keep living. It is a coping skill; a bad one, but a coping skill nonetheless. I was once gang raped by a group of guys who I thought were my friends. I was drunk and high on drugs, so the next morning I buried it away. After all, I put myself in that position. It was my fault. Those were the thoughts I had at the time, so I pretended it didn’t happen. Even when I saw them later in the week, I pretended nothing was different. Inside, I felt dead. I continued doing drugs and drinking heavily for a few more years. I attempted suicide several times. When I wasn’t attempting suicide, I lived as recklessly as I could. Dying seemed better than living. I was in a bad place for a long time. It was years before I could grieve and even admit to myself that I was raped.
I worry so much about J. She carries so many wounds and she is not tough like I am. She feels every little jab deep in her heart. She is so trusting, yet she keeps getting hurt. J is a good, loyal person with a heart of gold. She trusted that when she said no, he would listen. It wasn’t a playful, ambiguous no. She was crying. She meant it.
My anger is still boiling. She begged me not to tell anyone, not even her dad or sister. So I have another secret that I must carry, because when I make a promise I keep it. I do not know what will happen if I run into him somewhere. In this small town, it is bound to happen. I know where he works. I could easily find out where he lives. I lay in bed at night and dream up scenarios of what I would do to him if I could. I will not share with you what my twisted mind concocts because it frightens me to think I can even dream of such terrible things. But she is my baby, no matter her age. She is handicapped mentally and he took advantage of that. To me, that is more inhumane than the horrors my mind creates.
I am here, drinking my coffee and beginning my day. J spent the night with a friend and is planning her best friend’s wedding. The birds are chirping and the sun is rising. Life goes on.
No Means No May 27, 2013
She was raped. That son of a bitch raped her last night. I am boiling with fury and probably shouldn’t be allowed to blog right now but I have to let it out somehow or I will hunt him down and cut off his dick. If you are offended by my language then please don’t read this post. I am seriously trying to keep from going after him. I do not need to go to jail, because then who would she have? Her dad, who lives in la-la land? Or her sister, who gets angry every time J’s bipolar/anxiety prevents her from being “normal”?
I have always joked that if someone raped either of my daughters I would take him in a house and nail his dick to the windowsill. I would then set the house on fire and hand him a knife and tell him, “You get to choose. My daughter did not.” I thought I was joking. Now I know I was not. I want to inflict terrible pain on him. I want to see him beg for mercy. How could that son of a bitch do that to her? She is already so fragile….years of work probably undone because he wanted to get off.
To think, this was a “nice boy” whom I knew and LIKED!!! It wasn’t one of the losers she found on the dating sites (nothing against dating sites, but J is known for picking losers and it never turns out well); this was a “local” guy who seemed very earnest and straight-forward. My heart is broken for her. She will not press charges because they will never stick. And I agree; they will not stick.
J told him no. Forcefully. Repeatedly. But she did not fight. She did not scream for help. She kept saying no and crying but did not stop him. My guess is because of her incredibly low self-esteem she just let him finish. She was so hurt and confused when she told me. My poor baby.
No means no.
This Is Me May 2, 2013
I live each day with a smile
helping, hugging, loving
all who are in need.
No one knows
no one would even believe
the darkness inside…
I lock away my sadness
hide it under well-formed layers
wishing in vain for it to vanish.
I look for beauty in all things
so I have a reason
not to die today.
This is me
how I live
how I am.
It’s Coming March 14, 2013
It’s coming. I can feel it, breathing down my neck. It’s not here yet, but it is close. When I gaze in the mirror, I can feel it hovering just out of view. When I walk down a long hall and turn the corner, I can almost catch a glimpse. As I stare into my own eyes, I feel it staring back, right there behind the dark brown flecks of my irises. Just the thought is wearing me down.
There is nothing I can do. It will come, it will stay as long as it wants, and it will leave just as abruptly as it came. It will tear me apart if it wants, and leave me in tiny little pieces that I can never, ever make fit perfectly again. I will fake it for as long as I can so that no one else can see the turmoil it brings. I will fake normal so no one will know my secret. But I know, and IT knows.
How long is my uninvited and unwanted guest going to stay? Will I make it? Will my life be so interrupted that nothing is ever the same again? Only it knows.
I hate depression.
Too Much Suffering February 20, 2013
She is running. J is never home these days, and when she is it is not for long. She is frantic. Her speech is like verbal garbage falling from her mouth. Her eyes are huge and she barely blinks. She is the walking poster child for mania.
It doesn’t help that she just got paid and her tax money is due any time now. For J, money and mania is as deadly as drinking and driving. I’ve talked to her already and she sees the signs. But how do you pull back? How do you stop the freight train that is flying down the track without any brakes? The doctors never really answer that question. How do I sit and watch the accident unfold? All I can do is warn her, but when she is in this state it doesn’t stop until…well, you know.
Depression. The evil twin of mania. It will slow her speech, stop her traveling, and halt her spending. Each time, I pray it doesn’t take her life. And, if I am being truthful, I pray it doesn’t take my life. Every time I watch her go through this, I die. I rage against a God, or Gods, or just the fucking universe, for doing this to her. Yeah, I’ve heard it before: there is a reason for everything. I have to say, I don’t see a reason for this suffering she must endure. I don’t want to know that there is an all-powerful BEING who would allow the agony I have witnessed. For that matter, what type of glorious GOD would allow me to be molested at the age of four? Or gang raped as a teenager?
Sorry, I got carried away. I’ve seen too much suffering lately. I sat in the hallway today as a nine-year old described her home life. She lives with eleven other people, all but one older than she. They make her fist fight her eight-year old brother because they think it is funny. She had a busted lip. I’m pretty sure she’s been molested, but I cannot get her to admit it yet. Another child was so hungry he was literally shoving food into his mouth like some sort of caveman. This was on Tuesday, right after we returned from a three-day weekend. I wonder if he had eaten at all since school on Friday.
There is so much pain with our young people. They don’t deserve this kind of life. My daughter is a good, decent person. She doesn’t deserve the pain she deals with every day. The children I see at school are too young to deal with the adult issues they must deal with daily.
My heart hurts today. I’m having trouble seeing the beauty in this world when all I see is immense pain and suffering of our children.
An Angry Child February 12, 2013
Hot, pulsing anger pushes her
flows from her fingertips
like bolts of lightning.
She wears a daily mask
of hatred and apathy
so no one can guess her reality.
But, if you look closely
you might glimpse in her eyes
the scared little girl inside…
Eight in years but thirty-eight in her soul
too wise for her young age
too broken to still be a child.
Beatings routinely rain down on her
a small punching bag for mom
rape is her unwelcome companion.
She knows only searing pain and hate
lashing out at school because
love and caring are foreigners.
All she really wants, all she really needs
is someone to see; someone to care;
someone to save her.