It’s been almost 9 months since I lost Ghengis and if I were to predict anything, I would have predicted that I would have felt a little better by now. I’ll have a day or two where I think I’m doing okay and then I’ll realize that the boulder in my chest isn’t supposed to be there.
On some level I’ve gotten so used to my grief I forget it’s there. On another, entirely stronger level, I still grieve every day.
Sometimes it’s so heavy I’m not even sure what to do about it. I can’t call anyone, I’ve already called everyone. Nine months of grief is not a burden other people want. It is not a burden other people could take on even if I could hand it over. I’m losing friends. I can’t maintain friendships because I know I’m not exactly the funnest person to be around. It takes a lot of energy, energy that I don’t have, to be normal and social. I crave my crochet, my dvd’s, my crossword puzzles.
I want to go out with my friends, I want to go camping and hiking with David, I want my friends to come in from out of town, but I don’t have the energy to coordinate any of this.
I want a night where my dreams don’t involve running towards the street but never getting there, never getting to Ghengis. I want to get through a week without hiding in the shower or basement or bedroom or work bathroom and silently crying into my hands. I want a month to pass without the overwhelming urge to punch someone.
I check petfinder religiously wondering if maybe another litter of Ghengises was born and brought to the shelter. It happened once before, right after I got Maddie. Maybe it would happen again, right?
It’s all just so exhausting.

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