Category: Musings

Six years ago today, my best friend was so sick that he gave me a look, a very human look, that said, "I've had enough of this." And because I loved my friend very much, I brought him to the veterinarian who ended his pain, not quickly enough. Domino lived with me for seventeen and a half years, and I always believed that he had saved my life. The day I brought him home, I was on a day pass from the hospital, where I'd spent a few weeks after a second botched suicide attempt. I had no idea how to move forward, no idea how to start my life over again. But if I could learn how to take care of a cat, maybe I could learn how to…

My regrets pursue me relentlessly when I am asleep. The school I didn't graduate from, the people I didn't love (or love enough), the children I didn't have. Things I did not say, thoughts I could not express. Apparently, the ammo purse I carry doesn't just carry my grudges against other people; it also carries the things I am holding against myself. I'm starting to wonder if it's not actually an ammo trunk. Whatever it is, sometimes it opens of its own accord, and something is launched to explode in my face. Is the battle metaphor appropriate? I think it might be; depression is a constant struggle against an enemy that can only be glimpsed in the mirror. My psychiatrist tells me to bury my past and stop thinking about…