PUPPEH. Let the hope of PUPPEH wash over me.
Rambling on no sleep. One of the worst days of my entire life, today was, really. Anxiety, loneliness, sheer terror about whether I will survive — physically, emotionally, financially — still smothering in grief, “dealing” with abandonment, betrayal, and barely surviving (?) the kind of evil that doesn’t seem like evil, which makes it the worst kind of evil. THAT sneaky-ass evil that creeps along for almost two decades.
Have I survived? Can I say that? I don’t actually know, but this PUPPEH is here. Right now. I have PUPPEH!
My Mica (“Mike-uh”) boy. He is an angel come to save me. I love him so much. I am so grateful for him. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. He is a beautiful soul. I don’t care much about me anymore. I’m just a bunch of strands or pieces and have no idea what I am here for, why people suck so much. I cry a lot, and I definitely have PTSD. I have wanted to … leave. I have an ok day here and there, every now and then a glorious one (when the pain stops, even somewhat, it’s indescribably glorious; I can laugh, and make others laugh, which I love more than anything I’ve ever done, really, and in those moments it’s like I recognize shards of myself still trying to re-assemble somehow). But today was bad and I can’t stop crying. Then I look down and there is Mica.
Sorry I can’t be … more funny today. He’s a pistol and I have pictures to prove it. I WILL start dog-blogging. I must, right? It’s all I am here on earth FOR, I think. All my life, not knowing what I am here for, why so much pain? Why do I keep going? Why?
Just write about your dog, Sherrye. Write about your dog.4