regret
Date: May 9th, 2008 5:24:39 am - Subscribe
Mood: terrified
She'd gone through this a few times before. Probably enough that by now it should be routine maneuver. Still, it wasn't anything anyone should ever be used to, ever. It wasn't all that surprising to find this one was harder.
The first was eleven, maybe thirteen (who really keeps count after that many years?) prior, she was around seven years old. Her friend had given her a beautiful doberman named Lady, but the dog was getting older and older until finally she was too sick and too old and had to be put to sleep. This was out of her control and she was so young that nobody bothered to even tell her. She just came home one day from school and the dog was gone. They told her the clichéd lie of course, that the dog had been taking away to a farm. But as young and naïve as she was, she knew better.
In the course of a year a lot changed for her. Her family picked up and moved to a new city, not very far away but for an eight year old it might as well been into a new country. She went from knowing everyone in her class to no one at all. Inevitably, she was lonely. She was a very intelligent young girl and quite a bit pet crazy. She had a few cats, a turtle her father bought her on a trip to the city of angels, and a dog that belonged to her father. But after watching 101 Dalmations she decided she wanted one of her own. Being as young as she was, she hardly got much of an allowance. Nonetheless, she saved. She searched weekly through the Penny Saver searching for a pup of her own until she found it. A litter of dalmation puppies for sale, $100 each. By this point she'd saved up $40 which to her had not only taken forever but had felt like a fortune. She called up and asked for a pup. This was an enormous feat for her. At her young age she was painfully shy and avoided the phone (and strangers) like the plague. But nothing could stop her once she'd set her mind to something. She explained her predicament of being sixty dollars short and the lady simply said to call back within a week and if no one had shown any interest she'd sell her the puppy. She very happily passed the phone to her Father and skipped off on her way. A week later she called, then visited, and picked out the puppy with the one black and one white ear and named him Lucky. She very happily carried him away with her into the car and played with him the entire way home. For the next few years, they were inseparable. She played with him every single day, taught him to roll over, play dead, and shake hands. She even begged her father to bring him to school with him when he went to pick her up. He obliged and she very much enjoyed all the attention her new friend received. She even went so far as to have professional pictures taken of her newfound friend. (In her defense, it was mostly done as a contest and was free as far as she remembers.)
Cut to years later. She's found friends at school and no longer has a need for her canine friend. Years pass by and the dog remains, neglected, unthought of. One year he gets sick while she's out of the country. He has a huge lump on his throat. Her family starts throwing words around like euthanasia and she panics. Unable to accept the idea, she begs for them to find a way. Luckily for her, her sister finds the humane society that helps low-income families pay for expensive surgeries. The dog manages to live but nothing has changed.
More years pass by and eventually the dog manages to run away. Upset but unperturbed, the girl accepts this fact. This was nothing she could control, but she's still hurt. Ironically feeling a bit betrayed, when in reality it's nothing compared to what she's done to the poor thing. She manages to console herself with fantasies of him living a better life somewhere else. Maybe he managed to find the one good family that would be able to take care of him. Sadly, this wasn't the case. About a month later the dog returns. Nothing but bones, with a broken leg. She nearly cries at the sight of him, it's so tragic. Just before he'd disappeared he was plump, just about right for his old age but now... he looked so fragile, crying with every step he took. She slowly nursed him back to health, but was unable to do anything about his leg. It eventually healed, but never fully. It didn't seem to hurt him any more, but he still limped.
Once more, the dog got sick. His ear swelled up as if a tennis ball had been surgically inserted. It looked horrible. Upon closer inspection the girl and her sisters came to the conclusion that the dog had a fox-tail, which would eventually take care of itself, if only leave the ear looking a bit bent out of shape. She knew if she brought too much attention with her parents, they wouldn't pay for any veterinary visit and would rather put him to sleep.
Now, the dog's ear is infected and pus covered, after they had thought the ear to have recovered. Something must have gone wrong. The girl went outside to attempt to clean out his ear and put a bit of ointment on it when she realized it was too late. The lump on his throat had returned, and it was too much. The girl cried and cried. She couldn't help it any longer. She realized anything she did now would be of no help. The dog was old, anyway. She'd given up hope. She ran from home, unable to bear looking at him any longer. She ran to her place of solace and swang on an old swingset she used when she was a child. She swang on the old swingset for as long as she could. Willing herself to forget, trying with all her might to lose herself in the cold wind blowing in her face. When she couldn't she pushed and pushed, higher and faster, willing to forget. If this didn't work she told herself she'd start sprinting through the field, but she knew she wouldn't because she wouldn't be able to stop herself and would end up throwing up. She sat for about an hour, crying, pitying the poor dog.
She rang up a friend. Unable to stand the loneliness any longer. She could sit alone, allowing her thoughts and feelings of inadequacy swallow her whole, but she wanted someone there. She wanted someone to hold her tight as if she was falling apart, because she was. She was drowning and she desperately wanted someone to grab hold of her and never let her go, she needed salvation.
She had none. So she went home. She sat in the backyard with the dog, quietly sobbing. Petting his ear, softly, careful not to hurt him. Massaging his fucked up leg. He sat next to her, quietly, understanding. Every once in awhile licking the tears off her face or nudging his nose on hers, forgiving. But it only made her cry out even more. After an hour of this she quietly sat up, hugged the dog and went inside to take a hot shower before bed in an attempt to console herself. Her head was throbbing as the water beat on her back and she was left alone with her thoughts and memories. She sobbed, always quietly, silently screaming, infuriated with herself.
Everything the dog had gone through, had been her fault. She never failed to neglect him. She'd half-ass it, save him just enough, for him to get hurt once more. She had fucked up that poor dog's life time and time and time again. And until the very end, the dog had done nothing but be loyal to her. She simply could not get over the fact how shitty the dog's life had been, all because of her. His life had been entrusted to her, and like a bad foster parent she had fucked everything up. Now she had decided that her last and final act of kindness toward the dog would be putting him to sleep and it tore her apart. She regretted everything. She regretted ever having asked for him, neglecting him, but never loving him. She did love him in her own sick way.
Why do I write this? Out of guilt. Maybe hoping a Potter-esque pensieve effect will take place to soothe my mind and soul. Maybe as an explanation so that people will stop looking at my tear-stained face as an overreaction. But really just to teach myself a lesson I'll hopefully never forget.
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all rise
Date: Jan 14th, 2008 3:35:00 am - Subscribe
Mood: inspired
i wish there was an easier way to jot down thoughts before sleep overwhelms me. something easier than reaching out for a pen and paper to put down my thoughts.
i don't understand why people don't understand. it's so simple, i'm surprised it took me so long to get it. the people you love most have the most power over you and are more likely to hurt you. case in point, carlos. well, it's obvious, is it not? someone you don't know and don't care for can't hurt you.
cue trust issues. long story in short simple terms; we were in love, deeply. problems arose as they do in any given relationship. people react in different ways. i reacted by ignoring them or throwing fits and causing more problems. he reacted by being depressed. obviously, these two did not mix. i was blind and kept arguing. he fell deeper and deeper into the pit of depression. eventually one of us realized what had to be done. that person was not me. cue heartbreak, tears, whatever. that's life. he found something that made him happy, instant gratification. i can't disagree with him, he is not the first human to do so. i was devastated.
people around us saw things differently, gossiped and took sides. mine. biased to this day, people tell me to stay away. i don't. i can't walk away so easily from such a strong gravitational pull. not without a fight.
sometimes i'm not sure i have any fight left in me.
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abandoned
Date: Jan 10th, 2008 8:05:44 am - Subscribe
Mood: crestfallen
...by my own so-called father. he gives me a roof over my head and expects me to take a vow of celibacy. i've had rough childhood from the start, granted. you can't expect to get along easily with your traditional over-conservative parents when you're as liberal as i. still, i always thought of compromising, and yet they can't stand to compromise with me, i always am expected to give in.
then one day, lo and behold i walk in through the doors with a hickey. a fucking hickey. a bruise on my goddamn neck. from a kiss. a boy gave me. a boy i've dated for two years and known for two and a half. a boy they frigen know i kiss and it shouldn't be all that surprising that he kisses my neck and may get a little overexcited once in awhile.
well, ha. now i have to pay my own phone bill. that's fine, really. now he sells my car. what the fuck. really? a bruise for an automobile hardly seems fair.
now i'm fucked.
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runs with vampires
Date: Jan 6th, 2008 8:31:50 am - Subscribe
Mood: thirsty
well, here i am. another blog, another day, another try.time after time after time i tell myself, "well, i'll keep this blog, that's for sure..." yeah... no. doesn't happen much, does it?
i'm beginning to figure myself out more, little by little. piece by goddamn piece. but maybe with each piece i find i lose another piece of myself? who knows.
i. do. NOT. enjoy. reality.
the plain and simple explanation is... well, obviously that i prefer fantasy. not just any fantasy, oh no. i don't mean aliens and ... well, i'll leave it there because i probably do mean everything else.
maybe.
it's more of a romantic fantasy. hopefully hopelessly romantic of all romantics, fantasy. i want my edward cullen. a boy who's so perfect, so so so perfect, he makes romeo look like a fraud. a boy whose only tragic flaw is... well, he's a vampire. but apparently real boys like that don't exist, because for them to exist like that, in such untarnished perfection, well, that's nearly blasphemy! no such perfection could exist without a tragic flaw! and of course, in reality, these tragic flaws do not exist, for they are unparalled.
thus, i prefer my fantasies over the reality of the way things are.
i wonder if i've had my fantasy already. one year ago i would've agreed, no doubt. but what about after? even for the few months after i would've agreed... there's no way i would've endured that pain without thinking it was love love LOVE.
but now? i don't know how i feel anymore. i care about him, no doubt. otherwise i wouldn't throw myself into temptation as i do almost every single day. (my throat's been marked, even... the thought alone makes me giggle with my new obsession with vampires...well, edward cullen really.) yet i can't bring myself to say "i love you" anymore. i never had trouble before and suddenly, no more. if i bring myself to say it, daring myself not to hurt him like he did me, it doesn't sound like me. i feel like a ventriloquists doll speaking with a voice not my own...
but i do love! oh, how painfully do i love! i adore, i love, i want him! always so painfully him. but the fear always manages to hold me back, somehow. the love i so forcibly desire doesn't exist in reality. i wonder if it ever has.
my subconscious is trying to make reality seem less... real. suddenly i start hearing a voice in my head narrating my life, my emotions, the people around me. (in a way others might listen to a tune as their theme music throughout their day...) and suddenly... i feel light. i feel... content. and i don't fight it. when it's not there i feel the weight of life and my un-accomplishments.
...somehow, it's okay. i prefer to live in my head anyway.
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