2013, what a year you were.
I didn’t get married, I didn’t have a baby, I didn’t even travel abroad. I didn’t do any of the things I thought I would do in my 30th year on this earth. Instead I lost half my year to my break up.
First I was upset – what had I done wrong?, what could I have done better?, why did this person no longer like me?
Then I was angry – why did he speak to someone else about his feelings?, why was I not good enough?, why had I been lied to?
Then I thought fuck it – if he doesn’t want me someone else will, I don’t need him to make me who I am, I don’t need this drama in my life.
I thought I was getting better, I thought I didn’t give a shit, I thought “I am kick ass!”
Then the black dog returned. He scratched at my door, he begged to be let in, he whimpered softly until I could bear it no longer. I let him embrace me, I let him cover me in darkness. I sat on the kitchen floor in the darkness crying, I reached for the knife and thought about letting the blood flow. I stared endlessly at packets of pills and thought how many could I swallow to make it stop hurting. I stood in the shower and let the water wash over me, hoping it would resolve me of past mistakes. I wanted to end it all. It’s not the first time and I’m sure it wont be the last.
I have some amazing people in my life, some I know in person others from online. They reached out for me when I said I wanted to end it all. They touched me with their kindness and tried to hold the dog back. They fought hard for me and asked me to do the same. I tried (I still try to), I wanted to. I was sick of crying, I was sick of being sick.
I wanted to sleep, but not forever, I wanted to wake up in the morning and smile, I wanted to find the joy in little things again.So I pushed back, I clipped that lead on the dog and tied him up to the nearest lampost. I gave him a biscuit and told him “Not this time, this time belongs to me”. I held my head high and I walked away. I still visit him occasionally, I pat his head and let him nuzzle against me. I can’t fully let him go yet, perhaps I love misery too much or perhaps I’m scared of being happy without him.