Fell off the wagon today.

....yup, I cyberstalked.

Did I explain here that I had read this awesome -and yet a tad silly book by Greg Behrendt and his wife called It's Called A Breakup Because It's Broken ? He also wrote He's Just NoThat Into You-- the title of which comes from that famous "Sex and the City episode where all the girls are trying to get into some recent jackass man's head to decode jackass behavior, and Carrie's boyfriend expedites it all with the actual truth,( Insert Title Here. Apparently Mr. Berhendt was a consultant on that show and came up with the whole catch phrase and in the book he explains why. It's also awesome and a little silly, but very uplifting, somehow. His main message : that you, wonderful girl that you are, should not waste your time trying to pursue men who are not worthy of your awesomeness. Which is hard to remember when you're feeling dumped or confused, so hence the books.) In it, he talks about all the stupid, awful parts about breaking up with someone, including all the stupid, self-defeating crap we do when we're hurting, like Romanticize the Past ( check), Mope Uncontrollably (check) ; Drive Your Friends Crazy By Always Being on The Topic Of The Breakup (not yet, but sure to arrive eventually) and of course, Calling, Emailing and Stalking, Just To "See" How They Are ( Read: Are They Over Me Yet?.... and check.) On the last one, he advises a very wise 60-day detox from the Person, or contacting them, or even just trying to find out how/ what they're doing.

I decided last week to enact this wise bit of advice, and it was a relief. Granted, it's made a bit easier on me, since my Person of Interest is out of the country, will be til Christmas, and is absolutely unreachable by phone.

Ah, but then, there is the Evil That Is MySpace. Urgh.

It's like High School for Grown-Ups . You have your page, and your "Friends", which you're supposed to rank in order of some sort of importance, and all manner of other means designed to help you meet/network/communicate with people. And it's the End of Maturity As We Know It, because LIKE high school, you can gossip, and leave "comments" or remove them, or just stop being someone's "Friend" and all kinds of stupid crap that you thought you left behind at 16. What's really awful is that you can fall into believing that it's reality, or it means more than it might, when in fact, you are actually just dealing with a computer screen, and nothing more, and the drama that ensues from it is thusly even MORE ridiculous than what you've ever seen in high school.
(And OF COURSE, you can check who a Person *might* be leaving comments for, and who leaves comments for them, and view their new pictures, and blah blah blah, ad infinitum, all the stuff you need to NOT do to get on with your fucking life. A few days after Anthony and I split up, I went to his page and saw that he was all flirty flirty with other girls. I had a TOTAL meltdown. Crying, wanting to email him demanding answers, etc, the whole nine. It took R, Sassy and two other friends to talk me off of THAT ledge. It's Evil, I tell you. Evil!!!)

I decided to just not GO into MySpace anymore, and avoid temptation altogether. Like I said, it was a relief. And I was doing well, too.

Except I woke up on some strange side of the bed today, ( the one I've been trying to get out of, and only recently succeeding) and just HAD to go look.

Sigh.


I know; bad, Jessica, bad. Why? I dunno....I guess I was feeling like I wanted to know how he was taking things over there at MySpace, if he was still acting like All That In Pants or Not, and you know what?

While being a bit emotional and weird ( and embarassing, frankly, to feel so little willpower), it was actually enlightening. I saw that he is posting sorta "hey sexxxxaaaaay" pics of himself, and while I didn't need to see THOSE ( have those on a rotating slide show in my head), I saw that he is flirting a bit with some chicas ( but still, nothing serious, just nonsense), but I also saw him trying, and trying hard to be moving on. Which in a weird way ( after I cried a little) helps me let go even more. Not because I was mad, or thought "what a fucker" or had another meltdown, either.

Does that make sense?

Probably not, just bear with me. I saw these pictures of him, and remembered all the reasons I loved him, and why it was so hard to leave when it was becoming so obvious that it wasn't working. Given that I've been beating myself up alot for not being stronger, having that visceral of a reaction was good to feel as a reminder. I felt so strongly connected to this man, and it was really not in the realm of logical, or anything reasonable. It was a good thing, a spiritual thing, and he felt it too. Add that with having unbelievable chemistry and him just being my favorite person to talk to, it was hard to unhook. While that was sad ( really sad) to recall, it also helped me grieve it more honestly, and let go a little more. Weird, huh?

I'm not very good at the whole date/breakup thing, woefully inexperienced at handling it well. At each stage of the game I need to be coached as to what to do next....and not have a meltdown. But seeing him making the attempt, encourages me to do the same and understand HOW we move on is not always as important as the fact that we do. Granted, I don't want to end up a wreck in my next relationship so I'm trying hard to move on with help and therapy and support. But I'm realizing maybe I can do it. I CAN do it. Sans the Big Awful Drama Terribleness of A Major Meltdown That Stops My Life.

AND, finally, it reinforced something I already knew: how he chooses to move on is something I don't get to comment on ( even though I gotta say: flirting with other girls? Groan, eye roll, so inappropriate!). It's none of my damned business, actually, and there's a reason for that. Fortunately, that goes both ways.

Which is why I'm so *over* stalking anymore. I know all I need to know, and I knew it already, inside myself anyway. The rest is just gravy. We know what we know when we need to-- and are ready to know it-- compulsions be damned. Life is so much easier when we just flow like that and resist controlling so much.

Letting go, in all sorts of ways, big and small. Very crucial, I remembered today.

Which isn't to say that it's so great and peachy.

It's hard. It sucks. I miss him, and then I really get mad at him. And then I feel better for awhile. It's only been two weeks (!) so I know it will improve. I'm much better than I was ( I got out of bed alot and went places and did productive things this week!) And I wish it wasn't this way. Totally. But it is, and even though I don't have to like it, I do have to accept it, and so forth and so on.
It is what it is. And all we (I) can do is try to accept it and live with it. And still keep moving.

Which is what I'm trying to do. Maybe I am doing a little better than I think- this slipup not included. I'd like to think so. I really hate it when people say stupid crap to me like "oh you're so strong, and this will only make you stronger ( KWIM, Sassy? LOL! I know you hate that too)!" Like, yeah, asshole, I WANTED to have to suffer so I could get even stronger. YAY! Woo-hoo! Bring it on! I feel so much better now!
Still, it would be a nice perk out of this loss lately that I learn something new and good, and not just "how to be strong". I already KNOW that. But "how to keep your life together when everything around you is falling apart and you feel like ultra crap", well, that might be cool. Which isn't to say I failed when I couldn't before; not at all. This is a different time and circumstances have changed and all the rest. Still, it would feel pretty good to have knocked one big pile o' loss down and eventually stomped right over it for once and not have it knock ME over and have to get up from the bottom again.

I hope that I can do that. I hope I'm given what it takes to be able to do that. I hope I have the strength and the compassion for myself and others to be able to do that. I pray for that. If you're praying too, maybe you can lob a few my way, too, okay?

Because that sure would be cool. It sure would be cool.
Amen. And Blessed Be.

Sitting here thinking I should blog. Not really feeling like I have anything to say that's of interest. Same old, same old.

Sigh.

So I'll start with someone else's sad story: who knew? As with everything, this is good and bad news. The good news: there's that new record. And he's getting help promptly. The bad news: he needs it, in the first place. I was really shocked to see that those rumors were true. Not disappointed in him, just sad. It's a hard road, and crap, I've walked it. I walk it every day. When things go wrong, sobriety can slip out of your hands like water. Hell, and he had everything going right, too; but that's when things get even trickier. "Oh, I can handle it," and "maybe I was wrong in thinking that I had a problem. I'm doing so well."

Yeah. I know how that goes. I haven't slipped in a long time, but being dry and being emotionally sober are two different things. I think I've needed to be more emotionally sober for a long while. Pay more attention to what's going on underneath, and whether or not I'm living right.

Of course, you can live right all you want and still get kicked in the ass. That's one thing they fail to mention in AA; being sober doesn't mean you get what you want or what's fair. It just means you get to live more fully and lessen your chances of your life being a disaster. What comes at you is still going to come at you, regardless. That's just life.

Unfortunately.

Like why all this crap had to happen at once, I have no clue. It's like a pile-up on a highway. Everything backs up at once. According to all available sources, I'm dealing with it well. I'm "detaching with love" (Tony), and I'm "handling my grief"( Griffin) and I'm "being honest about my limitations and reassessing my life and priorities as well as can be expected" ( my job).

Never mind that I feel like I've been hit by a truck.

But I guess I don't get out of that one. I'm trying to work on my meds right now, and it's not going well. I feel less depressed, but I also feel like the side effects ( like feeling like I have a head full of cotton) are a bitch, too. I was in the car driving to Ron and Roy's this weekend and I had a little epiphany: I can tweak all the meds I want, and still I have to walk it through. Feel the feelings, have the grief. That's the part of depression, and of life, you can't medicate away.

Which, I guess, is what Our Boy is learning all over again in rehab. Illegal/verboten or prescribed and taken properly, the lesson is the same: walk your path untill it doesn't hurt anymore, but stay on it. Nobody gets to cut through the side of the road.

Isn't that the god's-honest.

OKay, this is about Day 3? 4? Or so ? of hanging out in my pajamas crying. It seems to be all I'm up to these days. Things have been bad. Really, really bad.

It's not just Griffin's death. It's not just losing Anthony. It's also losing my job, which happened on Thursday when I could not seem to pull it together to go in. I wish I could say I'm stronger and I'm better than my problems, but apparently, when I'm under this much stress, I'm just NOT. I couldn't face that hour drive there/hour drive back, and spending all my time talking about war, death, hatred, soldiers, pain....when I had so muchof that actually factoring into my own life. Pretty much all of it, short of a holocaust. Those are a little tough to come by and take a lot of time to put into motion, so I'm able to say that none of that came into play... ha, ha, bad joke. I'm struggling here, so cut me some slack...

I also figured out that on Monday, when I pulled my car over to the side of the road and started crying uncontrollably, on my way to work, that yet another arising issue is that my body isn't working like it should. It's not proccessing my medicine properly during my cycle, and thusly, my bad post-Plan B PMS has begun again. I take my Lexapro for the 5-7 days before my PMS is set to begin, as prescribed by my doctor, and it has not been cutting it. I feel better, probably, than I otherwise might, but I am spiralling into not functioning at all again during those times. I'm crying alot, everything seems worse than it is, and like it will never, ever get better, and that I cannot handle anything at all, and I might crumble if anything else happens.

Add all that together with the stress of fighting and breaking up with someone you really really love, and a recent death, and a job that you desperately need to keep and really want that seems impossible to handle given the circumstances, and well, you get me. I'm not good at all this external stress to begin with, as I do have an illness. Lots of times, I like to think I can hack more than I can, but I'm beginning to realize I can't. And I especially can't when my hormones/chemicals arent' cooperating. Its like asking me to do what might be very very difficult for anyone else, but doing it with one hand tied behind my back.

I'm so tired. What else can I say? I hold on to hope that the "Trifecta" of crap that all my friends insist will have to pass soon becaue "bad things come in threes, Jessie, and it will all be healing from now on"; I hold on to hope that this is the end of a cycle, a terrible, terrible cycle that started so long ago, when I first moved here, when I first had my breakdown here. I have to hope that I can rustle up something, from inside myself, that can get me through this last part, so I can move on, heal, do better, have better for myself.

It's just that I'm so tired. How do I stop being so tired?

Anthony and I are over. For good. He wanted a break- a real one. We were causing each other too much pain, he said, and he is so overwhelmed with pain everyday where he is now. It's true.

As much as he needed to be free from me and the attendant drama in our relationship, I think he also wanted me to be free from him. He's so consumed with war and suffering.

And me?

Well, it's relief and sorrow. A bit of "what next?" He wasn't clear that this was forever-- it's clear to me that he isn't even thinking that far. He's taking the attitude of "if she meets someone else, she does, I know this is alot to ask of her. " I am not even ready for that, but I am pretty sure I need to just treat it like it's done for good. What else can I do? I can't be with him while he has this job. It changes who he is. It takes him away so far, geographically and emotionally, from this world I live in every day.

I know I'll see him in December when he comes home. I know it. By that time, things should be very clear. Distance and time served. Maybe we can eventually be friends. Someday.

Right now, just add it to the pile of grief I'm already in. To the pile of the last 2 years, where very little has been anything other than struggle and loss. Hopefully, I will make it to the top of the pile, and pull through.

In time, it will pass and I will get used to it all. Right now, I just cry. I just cry.

A long time ago, in another blog, not so far away, I used to post with a fair amount aof detail about my mental status and health. I did it then because I needed to and I thought, "surely I am not alone in my suffering. Maybe someone would benefit?"

I'm going to revive that tradition here. Excuse the narcicsism (sp?).

My brain hurts. When I get under stress, the left side of my head feels like it's a.) full of sand, b.) has a searing pain in a small strip from my forhead to the back of my ear or c.) stops being able to be rational. I have talked to numerous doctors about this, and they all say the same thing: it's just muscle tension from the stress.

Could be. Probably. But I met with a woman who does this proccess called Neurofeedback recently. She was doing a panel at NAMI , which is pretty accredited, so it's not some quackjob hoax. What she does is remind us that the brain is not all chemistry, it's electricity, too. If you're going to heal your illness, you might want to address the way your electrical pathways are accepting the medicine, and why it fails sometimes, and why we have side effects.
So, with an EEG, she maps your brain. Sees where all the "problem areas " are: all the spots that are not functioning at a normal rate. And then helps you to "retrain" your brain to use different pathways and heal itself more effectively.

Sounds whacko, huh? Maybe...but I believe her. Here's why:

People with brain damage from accidents and other unfortunate events have to "relearn" how to do certain things. And the brain is a very "plastic" organ; meaning it can change and adapt and reroute skills that have been lost through infirmity.
I know this personally; when I was first sick in my 20s, I was given a series of medications that were not right for me, and I had a surgery on my skull that went very wrong. After that, I wasn't the same. I had terrible short term memory problems, to the extent where I was losing my car in parking lots, getting confused as to where I was, and not remembering whole conversations of importance .
Eventually, I forced myself to adapt and make new skills to deal. I had to write every fucking thing down. I had to have friends keep me on track. I started developing mnemnonic devices for everything. All on my own. At 23.
It worked. And eventually I didn't need the special tricks anymore. I still have problems ( don't ask me to try and read a map, and don't ever say to me "remind me to call my mom/eat more fiber/ feed the dog". I also cannot deal with too much sound or light. Places like TGI Fridays drive me insane.). I retrained my brain to do the things I'd lost.

So I talked to this woman, who is currently treating one of my friends, Ria. Ria let me look at the printout of her "brain map", and in her left frontal area, there was a "hot" spot. I asked what it was, and the woman answered, "that's where Ria's proccessing gets stuck. It runs too slow, and that's not good because it's the area of the brain that contributes to mood and anxiety."
I about shit my pants. Ria and I very the same in our symptomology.
So I cautiously said to her, "um. I'm just wondering. I get headaches there-- RIGHT there-- sometimes, and it's always, always anxiety related. Doctors tell me there is no way I can "feel" my illness this way. But sometimes the headache comes first. I can always tell when a worry session is appearing, because it hurts,and then boom, I'm in a snit. Does that sound weird?"
She told me :" I have no doubt you get headaches there. It's real, Jessica. You're not weird. And it's fixable."

It's fixable. I can retrain my brain to not worry so much. To not always use that overused pathway into anxiety. I can help it find new pathways, and learn to control my symptoms better.

That blows my mind.

Of course, it's a million dollars, and she's doing this study for NAMI so they can get funded for a bigger study, and perhaps get insurance coverage. Currently, you can *maybe* get them to pay if you say it's for "pain management". ( Not my insurance. I checked. Fuckers.)

I wish, I wish, I wish. Because right now, my brain is overload. And I'm so tired of not being like normal people, who can have problems and still go to work and get up every day. I'm like a slave to whatever chemical ride I'm on, and I'm so SICK of it.

Currently, my body is STILL stuck in progestin hell. So badly that on Monday, even though I took my PMS meds, got dressed, packed my lunch and got in my car, I was so overwhelmed with despair and anxiety that I had to pull over and cry. And cry. And cry. Apparently, my hormones are still so high from that goddamned one-time emeregency contraception that my PMS is out of control again and my meds are not even cutting it.

I cried and cried for almost 3 straight hours yesterday. I didn't make it to work. New job. That's great, huh?

Didn't make it to work today, either. I was so exhausted from the crying fest and still panicking pretty badly, I had to stay home, take a tranquilizer and sleep for most of the day.

There was a stressor involved: Anthony. I'm so sick of that, too. I talked to Sassy yesterday for the better part of 90 minutes and I asked ,"Oh my GOD, am I becoming one of those women who call and you roll your eyes when the phone rings, because you know it's the same old story?" She was kind enough to say she wasn't tired of supporting me, but she did mention, "well, you're getting kind of close to taking that exit into That Place , I will say." Great. Just great.
I keep trying to make this relationship work, and I don't think it's gonna anymore. I'm losing hope like a car leaking oil ( another fun thing I had to deal with this week.). He's had it too, and right now, we're in this drifting limbo, both of us out of energy, and wanting to check out for awhile. At least we're not fighting.

But is this it? I can't even cope. I'm so tired, my brain is so tired.

Sometimes, I just want to run away to a little small town somewhere, and get a silly little job and save some money, and rest. Get up, go to work, go out with friends, go home,sleep. Just pull what in the mental health world is called a "geographical" ( changing the outside circumstances versus changing the inside.). Is that so wrong? Sometimes you just need to skip the record and change stuff in order to get a fucking break.

I'm in need of the world's biggest vacation. And I feel like such a loser. What did I do to deserve a vacation? I don't have kids, or a mortgage or half the worries of anyone else I know. But I can barely handle my own life, that has next to nothing in it.

I wish I were normal. I wish I were better. I try. I do. I take my meds. I go to therapy. I go to group. If I had my way, I'd even go to neurofeedback. But right now, everything normal feels so out of my reach. Why? What kind of life am I supposed to live like this? ( No, I'm not suicidal, for chrissakes. I'm having a crisis of faith and meaning). What dreams can I dream from here? What can I even strive toward and attain from this place?

I'm so tired. So tired of everything. Mostly, of loss and failure which I feel saturates everything. I just want to figure out a way to make my battery run again, and not be so exhausted to the bone. Can I do that? Please?

Sigh.

What exactly IS it about candy corn? Every year, I get so damned excited when I see it on the shelf. Is it childhood memories? Is it *the* defnitive smell of the season? I can't be sure, but every year I buy some, and every year, I end up regretting it.

The thing is, I realize that it really IS the crappiest of candies once I've had a few niblets; it's nothing, really, but wax and sugar and food coloring, right? Right. But then I am compelled, by some unknown force to eat more of it. Whereupon by about a handful into the bag, I come to the conclusion that I am already sick of it ( or sick from it), and unsure about what to do with the rest. This usually leaves me with a "bleh" feeling from even that much and about a half a ton of the stuff left hanging around.

Although I've noticed that if I take it anywhere, say, work, or to a meeting, everyone else has the same reaction: "OH! Candy corn! Oh, I love candy corn!" and little by little ( a handful at a time, just like me) it disappears. The desire not to reappear again untill next year.

What gives? Are they putting time-release crack in there, or what? And why do I still find it gut-bustingly hilarious to put two pieces on my front canine teeth and pretend I'm a vampire?

Maybe I need to get some kids. I'll bet that "look I'm a vampire" gig would get old in about 20 minutes, and as soon as I cleaned up just ONE mess of orange vomit, my yearly craving would be cured forever.

At least I'd hope. My teeth hurt.

Crawling up from the depths.....

Hanging in there. Very, very tired, I've noticed. Working alot and getting adjusted to the news sleep schedule ( which does NOT permit me to sleep til 12, unfortunately). Plus, fall is rolling in, which I LOVE but also makes me want to snuggle into the covers even more.

And all the changes. It feels like an eternity since last Friday, but it's only been a week. Already, adjustment is setting in. I guess that's because none of this was a surprise, really. Angel is doing what Griff did when his sister died- following me everywhere, latching on, making sure I don't go too. Although this is aggravated by the fact that it's Inside Time for Black Kitties ( it's October, and 'round here, that's serious business) and he's bored out of his mind. Poor guy.

Anthony and I are in a better place, mostly because he stepped it up and apologized, and because I've been getting my much-needed break. I did check in with him this week once, though- he's got the flu, though, and he's stuck in Global Hotspot with it. Can you imagine? Oh, THAT's good times. Apparently, he's been prescribed some sort of kill-everything-within-a-50-mile-radius-of-your-body antibiotic, since this flu also comes with a respiratory aspect brought on by the fact that given the lack of adequate, erm, plumbing ( because of of Hotspot-ed-ness), the people are forced to dispose of their waste publicly. Yes, that means the air is tainted with...all kinds of stuff. That you might not want to inhale. Ahem. When he told me that, I probably had the biggest ICK reaction in the history of the Western world. UGH!

Me? I've gotta figure out how to make more money ( when do I NOT?). Or start taking the bus to work, because gas prices are insane and the drive is killing me. I meant to call The Boutique this week to see if I could come back to work on Weds and Fris, because that would mean if I had to scale back my MoT time untill gas prices come back down ( *snort!!* I think I just hurt myself laughing at the prospect). Or at least give me more in my pocket in general. I think I am seriously going to look into that bus option. I only work there three x a week and if I could do that for two of the days, I can carpool with another girl who's new on Sundays. And on Sundays traffic is not too bad.
I am getting used to the dour topical information, mostly because a.) the people there are great and b.) you really do get inured to it. Yesterday I was working in this area we call Photo 3, because it's at the end of the tour, and it's where you find out the fate of "your" child. Well, one of the computers was on the fritz and wouldn't take a patrons card, and so I was trying to trick it into going in. It just wouldn't work. I turned to the woman and said, "sorry, I think this one's dead"-- meaning the CARD, not the kid ( I actually had no clue about the kid). I immediately realized my HUGE faux pas, and said, "Uh. Ahem. I meant the card. I, uh. Would you like another card? " Luckily she was good natured about it. My coworkers, though thought this was the HEIGHT of humor. I'm sure my boss would have NOT felt the same way.
After she left, I went up to Darren, my Floor Coordinator, and I said, "OH MY GAWD, did you hear that? I am such an ass." He jsut laughed and said, "Oh, Jessica. PLEASE. After awhile you have to laugh about that stuff. I mean, it's terrible, but there's only so much you can take. Humor gets you through."
And indeed, later on he was explaining something to me about crowd control, and how everyone always gets stuck in the Hall of Testimony ( otherwise known informally as the pseudo-gas chamber. It's designed to look like one, and a short film runs in there). People get confused as to where to go next, so it's our job to open the doors after the film ends and usher them to Photo 3 and a short film on the liberation of the camps. So Darren is saying, "Okay, you're peeking through the doors, and you see this last shot of two little girls, open doors, explain the short film, yadda yadda." I say, "Got it. Death, death death, shot of two girls, Liberation film, 'yay, we're all free!' and hustle 'em over." Without even BLINKING he goes, "Right. Exactly. " A pause. I blurt out, "I'm sorry." Another pause. Then we both cracked up.

Oh my GOD, I'm the worst person EVER!!! But he's so right. You cannot keep at this job if you don't develop a thick skin. Of course, I would NEVER do that in front of a patron ( er, the aformentioned incident notwithstanding). I would NEVER do it in front of a Survivor ( of which there are quite a few working there- and children of Survivors, etc.) . I wouldn't do it in front of ANY of my bosses and certainly, most importantly, I would NEVER let it get in the way of making sure the Museum has its maximum intended impact and its mission. I seriously support and believe in that, and I honestly want to assist in it. Otherwise, why would I BE there?

But I'm serious. You've got to get through it somehow and short of coming home and wanting to die, what are you going to do? I mean let's be realistic: I have a boyfriend who's over in the middle of a fecal-atsmosphered shooting range, my cat just died, and I work here. Thank god for therapy, and yet, there's just gonna be days I have to break the ice, come home and watch absolute crap and make inappropriate jokes. I just have to be super careful who hears them.

Humor does get you through. Even if it's gallows humor. You're dealing with a girl who, upon being released from the mental hospital, got cut off in traffic, and leaned out the window of her car and yelled, "HEY LADY! Don't mess with me! I'll kill ya! I'm certified, and I'll get OFF on an insanity plea in COURT!!!" ( I thought Dani was gonna burst a blood vessel laughing.) I don't think she heard me, and that's probably a good thing, because by the way she was driving, she needed the drugs MORE. The important thing is that I felt better, and nobody really got hurt.

I have to be careful, so as to not let stuff slip, like with that patron. But I also need my sanity. It's sort of useful to have a grip on, I've discovered. Slippery in times like these, but neccessary.

And so it goes, one day at a time....

Bad blogger Jessie, I know. Things have been a little intense around here.

Griffin died. I realized earlier this week that he was declining really rapidly, and I thought that it would be lucky if he made it through the weekend. Around Thursday it hit me pretty hard. I was driving to work, ( I did get the job at MoT- a long drive) someone cut me off in traffic and I had to pull over into a nearby restaurant parking lot because I burst into tears. I made it to work, but my boss saw me and sent me home after I told her why I'd been crying ( god blesspet loving California).

I got home and took a look at the boy, and it was a pretty bad scene. He hadn't been able to use his back legs properly for about a week, and that day, it was even worse. He'd just been sort of lying in one place for the whole day, and not moving. He hadn't been eating for about 3 days, and that day, he flat out stopped even going to the bowl. I decided that I'd watch him, and maybe bring him into the vet for pain meds the next day.

The next day was even worse- he didn't walk at all without falling right down, and his eyes barely made contact with mine. I decided that as soon as the emergency room opened, I was taking him in to be put to sleep. I called friends for support, and laid down next to my guy. I stroked his beautiful fur and sang him songs and told him everything I needed to.

And that was that. Afterward, I blessed his body and smudged it with sage pagan style, made sure it was covered. I left, and cried alot, but by and large, I feel he had a peaceful and painless death, surrounded by love, and I was absolutely sure I did the right thing at the right time. There isn't much else I could really ask for, you know?

I don't know what else to say about it, it's so soon. I'm really sad, and I'm not feeling up to much these days. Anthony had to deal with some suicide bombings in Global Hotspot the same day, and things between me and him are on hiatus right now, per my request. I don't want to let him go, and it's too soon for me to have yet another loss. I'm not altogether happy with him at this moment, but I have some hope left. Still, I just need a rest from all the roller-coaster of our past, and time to heal over that and this. So even though there's a lot of love there and I worry for his safety, I know this is important for both of us for right now. He's got quite a bit on his plate over there, too.

Sigh. I hope the world will turn and a better day is in store for all of us, and the pain of grief subsides quickly.

Ice cream, anyone? Grab a spoon. I got a big vat over here....