Depression and Loss in The Past

Monday ended up in a worse way than I would have thought when I wrote my last entry.

After I wrote Monday’s entry, I talked to Court, who was feeing the guinea pigs, and he mentioned that Tira didn’t look good, that she was wobbling and unable to stand on her own for long. We figured that she wasn’t long for the world. So I told him to get me a towel to wrap her up in, and I curled up on the couch and held her and pet her. Mom was in tears when she had to head out for work, but she got to pet and love Tira before she left, and then I told her that we loved her and that we knew she was tired… I held her for an hour before she passed away. I know she was happy for the last year, from the time that Mike rescued her from an abusive home and put her on our doorstep. She was always sickly, always underweight, but the sweetest, most loving guinea pig ever. God, if I ever find out who owned her before we did… I’ll probably be in jail. But she died knowing that she was loved and that she was safe, she was wrapped up, warm and cozy in her favorite towel, she was cradled to my chest, and yeah. God. I’m crying again just thinking about it.

I thought I was going to be okay. I mean. It’s a guinea pig, a pet, and not even mine. I went upstairs and laid down and broke. I completely shattered. I just… I felt like it was my fault, like if I wouldn’t have told her it was okay to let go, she would still be here. I know it’s silly, and I know if it were true, she’d be in pain and miserable, but it still hurt. And then my mind clung to the fact that Violet was going to die sometime in the next few years, and then I wouldn’t have her any longer and I just… I remember sobbing uncontrollably, saying “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” over and over. Court tried to help, tried to be logical for me, but it wouldn’t work. So he shut the door and left me alone.

I know and agree with what he did. I know there wasn’t any help for me, that nothing he could have done would have done anything but upset me further, but when I’m down in that kind of place… shutting the door and leaving me just makes it worse. I was in hysterics for over an hour, and the only way I could get back to myself was to hurt myself. I know, that’s a bad habit, but it was the only way I could come back through the emotional pain. I tried to be as safe as I could with it… wouldn’t allow myself to use anything other than nails on my skin. Even then I really scratched up my arms, tore gouges into my skin. It was enough to bring me back partially though. I was able to make a phone call to my mom’s work, asking for her to call me when she got in. Then the hope that she’d call held me out of that vortex of pain and dark for a little while. She basically told me there was nothing she could do, but her friend Catrina offered to pick me up from home and do the “Watch Chris so she doesn’t kill herself” song and dance.

I held it together then… I was able to pack a bag, and go downstairs so that Court could wash my gashes and put Neosporin on them. Catrina picked me up and put me to work doing menial tasks that kept my hands working and gave me something other than the pain to focus on until I fell asleep. Mom picked me up the next morning and it was awkward as hell between us. I tried to explain myself, to explain the pain an why I was feeling bad and whatnot, but she didn’t want to hear it. She’s in pain too, and I understand, but that “I don’t care” attitude cut to the quick of me… I had to convince myself that she didn’t blame me too.

I took Tuesday off. Well, to be more honest, I curled up Tuesday and slept, praying not to wake up again. But I did wake up, and while I’m still hurting, I’m not gushing emotional blood. I do think that this has opened up a wound inside of me, and I’m just… I’m losing energy and interest in everything. I just… can’t seem to care. Either that, or I’m clinging so damned hard to it that I’m driving myself and everyone around me nuts. I’m kind of wishing that I had another day like last Saturday coming up, one where I can just curl up in bed, press my cheek against Nathan’s chest and fall asleep listening to his heartbeat. I just… I feel so fucking lost and I hate it. I hate this whole reminder of my mortality and the fact that I’m opening up to loss when I’m opening up to people. I hate the fact that this makes me feel guilty and horrible for all those thoughts I had of suicide and all those times when I wondered if my death mattered. If losing a guinea pig could tear out my heart this badly, when it wasn’t even my piggy (unlike Violet), what the hell would my death do to those around me? I just… I hate this.

This couldn’t have happened at a worse time too. It feels like everything’s crapping on me all at once. Nate’s stressed about money issues and car issues. His car decided to go tits up during our date last weekend and all his extra pocket money is going to fixing that, but until he gets it fixed, we’re going to have to figure out alternative ways to see each other. He gets quiet when he gets stressed, so our emails have gone from 20+ a day, to 6 or so. At the same time, this whole emotional clusterfuck has me wonked in the brain, and has me doubting shit. I know Nate and I are having fun and that this could turn into something more than just having fun, but now I’m scared to death of letting him in further than he already is, because that nagging part of my psyche is saying, “He’s going to leave. He’s going to leave just like Tira left and you’re going to be alone… and what’s worse, when he leaves, he’s going to take Monkey (his son) with him, and you’re going to lose everything.” I hate insecurities.

Last updated December 24, 2016