Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Second anniversary

I see him prancing around green fields, or locked in my Mexico home, or under that fig tree... the few times my boy visits me in my dreams.
Sometimes I'm having a great time camping and smiling at once again seeing my buddy, others I'm bursting at the seams with excitement thinking I have finally found him, only to feel the cruel sting of disappointment after realizing it wasn't him.

I just want to see him, touch him... even SMELL him. Never thought I'd miss his smell.
I want to hear him snore in his sleep, snort when he's hungry... do his happy prance when he'd see me carrying his bowl of thoroughly-mixed dry and wet food.
I want to feel him playfully bump the side of my leg with his ridiculously muscular thigh... I'd even be cool with him breaking one of my nails with the swat of his crooked little tail when he'd get overly excited.

I feel ridiculous knowing I could love an animal this much... that I'd MISS him this much... that I'd get so animated recounting one of his stories (I do it every time I remember the simplest little things he did... I think I do it as a way to overcompensate for the horrible sadness I feel knowing I'm talking about my dead little guy... try being overly-happy while talking to keep from bursting into tears... which doesn't always work).
I honestly feel SO STUPID over how much pain I feel over his death... even after two years. Each time, each and every time I look out my window to the backyard, my initial feeling is immediate sadness-- each. and every. time.

I've been told this attachment and suffering of mine for a dog says a lot about ME and how I interact with other people.
But... don't they stop and think that perhaps the fact that I can be this attached to an animal, to love a dog this much... to think that at some point in my life, the ONLY creature showing me any sort of kindness and support, the ONLY thing encouraging me to keep waking up each morning, was a simple, stupid, "soulless" dog... doesn't that say more about PEOPLE?

I'm no longer at that low I found myself in when I was given Tyson, now I DO have kind, loving people in my life... and while my lows are hardly ever as low as they once were, I'm much better at climbing out of the abyss.
However, the fact remains that there was that time in my life, a time where I felt so fucking ostracized and ridiculed and... humiliated... and worthless... and fucking invisible and disgusting... and not ONE person would step up to help me out of it. Of the people in my surrounding, not one fucking human gave ONE single fuck.
That time I walked through school after having some dude dump salsa all over me during lunch break... salsa dripping from my hair... how many PEOPLE helped me out? None.
The times I'd walk past the park in Mexico, hearing boys moo and oink at me while the girls would laugh... how many told them to stop? NOT ONE.
People preferred DISTANCING themselves from me in order to avoid getting swept in the abuse... my siblings included. When I'd be around my family and they'd ask me STUPID questions as to why I was alone and I'd shrug, what would be my mother's response? "Haven't you looked at yourself in the mirror?!"
I mean, theoretically your family's supposed to love and defend you, especially in your time of need... these PEOPLE, yet in my case, they were just fueling the fire by turning a blind eye.
And just as I was fed up with putting a brave face to the world, when I was more than convinced I HAD to end it all in the quickest, most guaranteed way possible... I was given Tyson.

Others' rejection of me wasn't imaginary... it wasn't me inventing stories out of narcism...it. was. real. And SO FUCKING BRUTAL. SO BRUTAL. On a daily basis... for YEARS.
When my own kind was rejecting me, along came this dog... this tiny, ugly, so misunderstood breed of puppy... and gave a shit about me... thought the fucking world of me. A. FUCKING. DOG.
Suddenly, during the summers where I'd still encounter cruelty from my peers and even adults... instead of crying myself to sleep, I had this little creature worried about me, cuddling me the moment he'd see me take a seat in the backyard, licking each and every tear off my face, hands, and feet... a warm little body nudging me... urging me to play fetch with him... SMILING in my face. My ability to pick myself up was increased drastically with the introduction of Tyson.
I also had my little dog that upon seeing me walk in through my front door each day after school, would wag his tail so wildly, he looked like a wind up toy ready to burst. The thought of returning home to my amazing, silly dog was the new, sole, BEST thing that got me through the school day.
He was my anchor in the roughest waters (don't people say this about deities? Man, I'm a wreck-- pun not intended)... and helped me stick around long enough to see a clearing, to meet the amazing people I now thank for teaching me to trust in others and enjoy life. Tyson helped me stay long enough to see many of my former tormentors mature--at least become somewhat subdued.

How could you not love that creature with all of your being? How could you not suffer over the loss of that creature?
A dog... a pit bull, was the ONLY thing on the planet keeping me company, sticking by my side, and making me feel like I was worth a fucking shit, while my peers were either abusing me in any way they could, or quietly watching the harm to me occur without offering any sort of consolation or protection or END from the abuse.

I will never stop thanking that creature. I will never stop missing that creature. I will never stop LOVING that creature. Not two years after his death, not twenty years after his death.
He was my best friend, and many, MANY times my only friend... and now I can only interact with him in my dreams... the rare times my mind manages to conjure him.

So yeah... I suffer over, miss and love a dead dog.
I just had to get this off my chest. I hate others judging me for my feelings for a dog, I hate feeling stupid about STILL hurting about the death of my dog... and above all, I hate that there was ever a time in my life where the sole thing caring about me and keeping me company... and RESCUING me was an animal, a "simple fucking dog."

Sorry for the ramble, I've been crying all fucking day.

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