Talking to the camera about it helped, but it wasn’t the solution. I am at such a loss because I don’t know what it is. We are six days away from it being two months since he passed and I am not sure how much closer I am to acceptance.
Dodger died. Though I have written that statement numerous times in a variety of ways, it still feels weird. I know it’s true and that no matter how much groveling or bartering I do, it won’t bring him back.
I am not sure why I can accept the reality of the situation but am emotionally stuck. It’s probably because Dodger was my puppy. He was the best boy. The best dog ever. But, now he’s gone. Knowing that he feels better, that he is with Satsu, Jack, and now Sammy amongst others is nice and knowing that one day I’ll see him again is comforting, but it doesn’t do the “trick”. It’s not the magical wisdom that makes it all better. Knowing I’ll see him again somewhat has made things harder. It’s given my brain leverage to convince me it’s time for my end.
This week has been hard. I don’t remember the order, but I had a few impactful breakdowns.
- One night I really wanted Dodger to come visit me in my dreams. Status had after she passed and while I remember nothing of the dream I do remember being full of positive feelings. I wanted that so badly with Dodger. For it to bring me a sense of peace and closure. With only the TV lighting up the room I laid on my side with the blanket pulled up to the base of my head, with a sleep story playing in my ear. As the soothing voice read me a child’s story my wishes became flashes of memories. All of these loving and fun moments cycled through my mind and brought me to tears. (I still am not at the point where I can look back at memories without generally feeling torn apart.) To the point that the sadness had taken control of me and slowly I continued to give it agency. Before I found myself at the end of a terrible waterslide I asked for help. While the tears slowly stopped rolling down my face and I regained control of my breathing, that dark part of my brain made sure I knew it still had a grip on the wheel. It flushed more water down the slide, hoping to push me to the end.
I’ll jump out of the bedroom window, I thought. I’d have to move my car first, I thought. Despite the fall being three floors, I probably wouldn’t die and if I didn’t die , I would wake up injured and committed. So, I thought, stomach down a bunch of the pills that make you feel like you are going to vomit. And there it was, a plan that not only repeated in my head, but was also a vision I could so clearly see.
In a brief break in the cycle I expressed the need for help. I was reminded that I was the only one that could regain control… and that Kevin has no issue committing me if that is what needs to be done. The latter probably propelled the first into action. Despite part of my brain wanting to be committed (wtf brain) this wasn’t a good time for that. - Another night a video of Dodger showed up in my Snapchat memories. I watched it over and over. It was the first time I’d seen Dodger alive since he wasn’t. I felt the spiral coming and even though I wanted to watch the video on repeat forever, I knew I couldn’t. I closed the app and went into the kitchen to make dinner only to find out that I probably watched the video one too many times.
I collapsed in the corner of the kitchen, hidden by the island. I held my knees to my chest and rocked every which way. Sobbing next to the warmth of the oven which had pre-heated, reminding me of all I failed to get done.
As Kevin made his way upstairs from work, I cried out for the help I knew I needed, but didn’t know how to ask for until he was there. - Finally, I have recently been introduced to Scrubs. After the episodes about Carla and Turk trying to create a baby comes an episode where Kelso loses his dog Backster. While Backster was always an off screen character, I really liked the dog. Then, out of nowhere, just like Dodger, Backster was gone and Kelso was dehydrating himself to make the crying stop. If I were a grumpy old man, the scene would be like I was looking in the mirror. The empathy resurfaced the wounds. Mixed with my complex feelings about Carla and Turk the episode before, I was left sitting on the couch with tears building up in my eyes then slowly rolling down my cheeks. My mood and happiness were shattered.
Everyday isn’t wrapped with sadness, anger, and shades of gray. And while the heavy emptiness inside of me is still there, it’s presence isn’t overwhelming and it doesn’t steer the direction of my day. The factors that amplify the dark are separated and, slowly, being managed.
I guess from one month ago to now I am managing to deal with Dodger’s death better, but I also know I still have a ways to go. But, maybe it isn’t focusing so much on the end of the process, as it is focusing on all the little steps to help me get there.
Dodger is dead. There, I said it.
Your Mind Tells Lies 