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I've been dreading this post.
I don't even know how many breaks I've taken before typing anything.
I've been extremely sentimental, straight fragile, for the last week... knowing Tyson's anniversary was coming up
Yesterday, I kept replaying the events that had gone down exactly a year ago.
Monday morning, eating breakfast, walking outside... seeing his body under the fig tree... going to the gym and trying not to burst into tears at the gym...
And then today...the 23rd of July...
I've been crying on and off throughout the day. Sometimes just tears, other times some sobs get in there.

There's hardly a day I don't think of Tyson... I usually have to TRY not to think of him.
I miss that guy with every. single. fiber of my being.
Mi corazón. Mi amor. Mi vaquita. Mi corazoncito. Mi enano. Mi travieso. Mi feo. Mi bebe. Cabron. Babe. Love. My babykins. Honey bun. Asshole. Jerk. Jerkwad. Dumdum. Dummy. Silly. Little punk. Baby cow. Tontin. My love.
My best friend.
My baby.
My fucking love.
My heart.
My little guy.

I think of touching his face... caressing that giant head of his... holding his snout gently as he stared into my eyes... adoringly.
Yo tambíen te adoro, mi enanillo... más de lo que pense. How could you love me so much, babe?

I remember it was February, and I was running on my treadmill when my mom told me about the litter of puppies.
Running would be the best way I could clear my mind from the day's events at high school.
Sophomore year wasn't as difficult as Freshman year... I'd only think of suicide a few times a month... unlike Freshman year... were I'd pray to not wake up every single night.
I had three friends Sophomore year... three more than Freshman year... so that was ok.
But I was still getting bullied... it's the year they poured salsa on my head and in my eye... no one helping me to wipe it off... or even informing me I still had chunks of it in my hair.
I was still the target of ridicule and... mercilessly ostracized.
Though those three "friends" existed, they ditched school often... I had perfect attendance... so I'd still have many days where I'd sit alone in the hallways during lunch... counting the seconds until that bell rang for class to start.
I had zero reason to trust anyone. Zero desire to like anyone.

Then Tyson came into my life... and I finally had a reason to give a shit. Something depended on me... and in return, gave me its undivided attention, love... loyalty... admiration.
I had a little creature to come home to.
The thought of his cute vulnerability made me smile to myself throughout the school day.
It didn't matter who had taken a cheap-shot at me at school... who had shoved me... who had ignored me... I had Tyson... HE thought I was awesome. He loved me.
This tiny... loud... sarcastic little dude kept me looking forward to the next day.
This... animal... this creature that supposedly doesn't possess a soul saved my life... kept me alive-- not the fear of going to hell, not the fear of the heartbreak my parents would feel... but this dog... this silly dog kept me alive.

Seeing him under that tree that Monday a year ago... is indescribable. My homie, my love, my companion... my motor, my savior, my angel... my best friend... died alone... and left ME the job of... finding him.
The only creature who knew my deepest, darkest secrets and feelings... the only one who knew just how BADLY I had wanted to die on so many nights, whose warmth kept me from ending it all... beat me to death.... left me completely alone.

The creature responsible for anything positive that ever happened to me between the years of 2001-2012 is outside... buried as far away from my room as possible.
A year later, and I still feel as though I suffer from that phantom-limb syndrome... because Tyson wasn't my right hand... or left hand... he was my heart and my soul... my hopes and my dreams.
All buried outside.

I don't know if anyone will understand all of this... I don't CARE... it's just what I feel... and what is true. I don't care if they think I'm being dramatic with my unrelenting grief for A DOG... I don't care if they laugh at my tears, my deep heartbreak... after all, that's all I've ever been for some people-- some sort of entertainment... causing pleasure, enjoyment at the sight of my mortification and pain and humiliation. I don't fucking care. Laugh, judge, belittle to your fucking heart's content.

I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Tyson... the little guy who taught me to trust and enjoy the simple things in life... my loyal, fierce defender.
... and now I've carried on without him for exactly a year.

I miss you, my love. I still love you, bebe. I always will.