Three Years

Yesterday was the third anniversary of the break up.  I know we're kind of at a point where it's weird that I remember it but: A) it was kind of a major event so of course it sticks in my head, and B) I have a tendency to remember dates anyway, and this is definitely not the weirdest one I remember.  Plus the day of the break up was also Ex-Fiance's last day of school, so we were actually counting down to it anyway back then.

Anyway, it makes me feel reflective to think that three years have passed between then--which was absolutely one of the lowest and most awful points of my life--and now, when I'm probably the best I've ever been.  The change never ceases to amaze me.  I remember telling myself that night, "Give it 6 months.  Survive the next 6 months and go from there."  (Six months because at the time, it was both the longest amount of time I could fathom thinking about and the amount of time I thought it would take for us to get back together).  Back then six months seemed like this crazy, daunting amount of time--and now I've survived 3 years, which is 6 times that original goal.  It makes me so fucking proud I can't even tell you.  There really are no words.

The past three years have probably been the most transformative of my adult life.  I've changed more than I ever thought possible.  I think when you suffer from a mental illness for as long as I did, you kind of become convinced that it's the only way you'll ever be able to function, that you're just going to stay sick until it finally kills you.  I thought that whatever level of mental health I reached, it would be perfunctory.  I thought I'd make it to a point where I could function.  To where I could hold down a job and exert a little control over my thoughts and not spend all day every day feeling like I wanted to rip my skin off of my body (legit something I used to feel, btw).  I never expected to thrive.

But I am thriving.  I'm not just holding down a job, I've got a job I truly enjoy at a company whose work I really believe in.  I'm pursuing a career in an area that interests me.  And I've got a whole other job on top of that one!  I'm financially stable and independent.  I'm genuinely happy to be alive and and looking forward to whatever comes next.  I'm not anxious about time passing or what my future's going to be.  (OK, that's not 100% true, because my 30th birthday caused a bit of a quarter life crisis, but now is not the time to talk about it).

I'm not perfect.  There are still things I'm working on and still things I struggle with.  I need to lose weight and I need to manage my money better, but I'm still ahead of where I was in both those areas.  And I definitely, definitely need to find more time to devote to writing and creative pursuits.  Sometimes I get lonely, not necessarily for a significant other, but just for friends.  It sucks to have all my closest friends in other cities or states.  And yes, I know the obvious solution is to make more friends here in Flagstaff, but I have no idea how to make friends as an adult.  Through work is the big one, I'm sure, but my co-workers are all either married moms or hard partying 20-somethings, and I don't fit into either of those groups.  (Seriously, I never would have thought that 30 would have been more awkward than junior high as far as fitting in).

One really weird thing about being three years out from the break up is that I tend to not realize how much stuff I've done since it happened.  A lot of it is small things.  Like sometimes, I'll be re-watching something on Netflix (because let's be real, I pretty much watch the same 5 or 6 shows over and over), and I'll randomly catch myself trying to remember what my ex thought of it, and then I'll remember that I didn't start watching it until after I moved back to Flagstaff.  And it's just kind of trippy how much life has happened since then, from the small stuff like TV shows to the big stuff like mental health.  Honestly, sometimes it seems like everything with him never even happened, and it breaks my heart to feel that way, because I did genuinely love him.  So many things have come after, though, that that time is kind of buried under all of it.  Even a lot of the happier memories are starting to fade, and when they spring to mind (because they do from time to time), I find myself questioning the details instead of smiling.  It makes me so damn sad to think that how I felt about him has faded away like other memories do.  I genuinely didn't think that would happen, and I don't like that it has, because it just feels wrong somehow.

It's hard to put into words how I feel about my ex and the whole situation three years later.  It's not a consistent feeling.  Most days I don't think about him, but there are times when I inexplicably miss him.  Sometimes there's a trigger, like a song that comes on or something someone says or whatever, sometimes it's just totally out of nowhere.

I can tell you that I'm still not 100% over it.  To be honest, some of that is because I won't let myself let it go.  I can tell you that I'm not angry at him for breaking up with me anymore.  I am angry that he never came back.  More precisely, I'm angry that after I left, and then after he saw that I was getting better, he was never curious about whether it might work between us then.  I'm angry that he never made an effort to get to know the real me.

I wonder, all the time, about that.  I have for three years now.  I wonder what it would be like to be around another now.  If we'd still get along.  If that spark that was there on our first date would still be there, if all those old feelings would come rushing back.  I wonder about him, too, sometimes.  About what he's been up to since we broke up, about what his life's been like, about this experience from his perspective.  Aside from him moving back to his hometown a year after we broke up, I don't know anything about his life now.

I know, for sure, that I still regret screwing up and letting him go.  That hasn't changed, nor will it anytime soon.  I had an amazing man, we were so in love, and I completely fucked that up.  I wish so much that I had done things differently back then.  I may end up completely over my ex someday, I may end up married and spend my life with somebody else, but that regret will never go away.  I'm OK with that.  Corey will always be my one that got away, period, and I'll always wonder what might have been.

I fell in love with him on our first date, and I do still love him.  I would love to just talk to him, about us and everything that happened and where we are now and just see if there's anything still there, because I still feel like I haven't completely gotten closure where we're concerned.  If the opportunity for a conversation ever came up, if he were to contact me, I'd absolutely listen.  As much as I'm sure that'll never happen, I'm always going to hold out a little hope, because that's just who I am.  I'm not sorry for it.

But that hope, and the fact that I would still like another chance with him, doesn't rule my life and it absolutely won't stop me from living my life.  I want that to be clear: I'm not just hanging around hoping/wishing/praying for my ex to walk back into my life.  I've got my own plans and I intend to follow them.

So that's that, I suppose.  Three years behind me and my whole life ahead of me.  I am so excited for whatever the future holds, whether my ex is involved or not.  And I am truly grateful for these past three years, because even though they started with this awful heartbreak, they have been amazing.  I love who I am now and where I am now, and I've loved being able to figure out who I am as a person and embrace that.  I'm happy to be healthy, and I'm happy to be happy!

Good Bye Benji

It's been almost a week since Benji died but I'm still having trouble really believing it.  I keep expecting to walk into the kitchen and see him all curled up asleep in his bed and it sucks every time I go in there.

I had a feeling it was coming, but still.  I wasn't really prepared.

This past Monday (2.24.14) I woke up feeling awful.  My period had started the day before and the cramps were horrible.  Like really bad medicine wasn't helping at all kinda horrible.  I thought about calling in but told myself to suck it up and go to work.  Which I did.  On the way there I was going back and forth about maybe asking to leave early, etc.  I got to work and made it clear that I wasn't feeling well.  I posted my payments, suffered through a billing meeting, and then decided that maybe I could stick it out and make it through the day.  But I had this nagging feeling that I needed to leave, that I needed to go home, that I just couldn't shake, so around 11 AM, I left.

When I got home Benji was laying on his side by the door, yelping for help because he couldn't get up.  I stood him up and he fell over again onto the same side.  It was heart breaking.  So I put him in his bed and made sure his heater was on and he went to sleep.  But every so often he'd kind of whimper.

I went to lay down (since I was still not feeling well) and decided to take Benji with me.  He's not generally a very cuddly dog (never really was) but I just felt like it was necessary.  I took him in my bed with me and we cuddled for a while--probably about an hour, maybe a little less, and then he started to squirm instead of sleep (like I said, he could really only take so much cuddling) so I put him back in his bed.  I kissed him and told him I loved him and told him that if he needed to go, to go.  In retrospect I'm so thankful that I came home from work and that I got that little bit of time to just snuggle him.  I believe it was divine intervention that I came home when I did.

I slept for a few hours, woke up, checked on Benji, and he was breathing.  A little while later I checked on him again and then went to get food.  I took Max with me, as always, and I was gone . . . I don't know, 20 minutes?  Maybe a little longer?  When I got home, as soon as I left Max off his leash he ran over to Benji's bed--something he's never done before--and my heart just sank.  When I got to the kitchen Max was resting his head on Benji's feet.  And sure enough, my little Benji wasn't breathing.

It was just gut wrenching to see him like that.  At the same time, I felt so relieved.  I was relieved to know for sure that he wasn't suffering anymore, and relieved that he had passed away at home, in a familiar place, peacefully and without me having to decide to end his life.  And at first I was really pissed off at myself that I wasn't home and with him when it actually happened, but then it occurred to me that that was probably for the best.  Benji was very, very attached to me, and Jerbs and I agree that he probably would have held on if I'd been home.

I cried.  I went to Michael's and bought a pretty little trunk to put his things in (because I'm not going to throw out his collars or sweaters), and then to JoAnn's and bought some really soft paw print fleece to wrap him in.  I texted my boss and told her that I still wasn't feeling well and that my dog had died so I wouldn't be in on Tuesday; fortunately she's an animal lover herself and understood.  I picked Jerbs up from work and when we got home I gave Benji a bath and groomed him.  It was one of the absolute least pleasant experiences of my whole entire life but it had to be done.  I mentioned before that with Benji's health deteriorating he absolutely wouldn't let me groom him so he wasn't looking so great.

On Tuesday I called the pet crematory here in Flagstaff and made arrangements to bring him in.  Before we left the house I held him and cried and told him how much I missed him already.  Taking him to be cremated was so difficult.  It was hard to just leave him with someone else, y'know?  But I feel really good about that decision and I know it was the best option.  And the man who runs the crematory was very kind and caring and very clearly an animal lover himself so I feel like Benji was most definitely in good hands.  I was supposed to get his ashes back yesterday (Friday) but I never got a call from them, and they didn't call me today either.  I'm trying not to flip out about it and plan on calling them tomorrow to see what's going on.  I think I'll feel better, though, once I have his ashes and he's with me again, if that makes sense.

Obviously I'm still devastated.  I've cried every single day, and coming home from work just isn't the same without him here.  I haven't been sleeping well either.  I just hope that Benji knows how much I loved him and I hope that I did enough for him.  I hope he died feeling loved and cared for.

It feels different than I expected it to.  I always knew I'd break down when I lost Benji.  That little dog saved my life as much as I saved his so grief was a given.  But I'm not as panicky as I expected.  I tend to think of "lasts" when things change drastically.  I thought I'd obsess over, say, the last time I kissed him good night, or the last time I fed him, or the last time he begged me for food, and so on.  And I thought I'd be sad about all the things he won't be around for.  But--and I think this is a result of how much my faith has grown in the past few years--it doesn't really feel like an end to me.  Yes, Benji is physically gone.  But he's with me now, always, in spirit.  I firmly believe that he is in heaven, happy and healthy and getting to be lazy on a big comfy couch, and that he is watching over me.  I believe that I gained a guardian angel.  I believe that someday, when I die, Benji will be waiting for me when I get to the other side, and that we'll be together, always.  And even though I'm in no hurry to go, I look forward to someday seeing him again.  And I take immense, immense comfort knowing that I will never really go a single day without him, because he is always with me.  He'll know all the things that happen in my life; he won't miss anything, good or bad, that I experience now.

I'm sure that some people reading this might think I'm totally nuts for feeling this way about a dog.  And I'm 100% OK with that.  Benji was more important to me than anyone could possibly understand, and all that matters to me is that I can grieve and remember him properly.  I refuse to be ashamed of how sad I am over this.  The truth is that Benji was probably the closest thing I'll ever have to a child and I liked him better than most people, and that life just doesn't feel the same without him.

Honestly, I would re-live any other painful moment in my life a hundred times over if I could have Benji back.

The other day I found myself thinking about the terrible people who had him before I did, who starved him and beat him and thought he was absolutely worthless.  They were so incredibly wrong.  Benji most definitely had a purpose on this earth and his path was absolutely meant to cross mine.  I wonder what they would think now, if they knew what an incredible impact that little dog ended up having on someone's life, if they knew how very important he actually was.  I'm sure they never would have imagined such a fate for him.

So now I'm just trying to figure out how to move on.  This week I'm going to stain his little trunk and get some pictures printed for my office and (hopefully) get his ashes back.  I'm also going to, at some point, get a memorial tattoo for him.  I feel like all those things are going to be part of my grieving process and are very necessary for me to be able to function.

At any rate, I am beyond grateful that Benji was a part of my life.  He was so incredibly special to me, and so very very loved.