I have always believed that writing is my therapy. I have always believed that if I just turn my thoughts into words, I'll feel lighter and better. But, for the last few months I have been at a place where I didn't even want to be honest with myself and accept the facts of life. So I didn't write.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am a writer, I write for a living. And I have written thousands of words over the past few months but none of those words were about what was going in my head.
Grief is a peculiar thing. Everyone has their own way of dealing with a loss -- Some choose to ball their eyes out till they start feeling better, others box up everything together, lock it in a room, and throw the keys out so that even they cannot reach their own feelings.
After all, denial just feels so much more better than accepting you have lost something. Denial makes you feel like you still have everything and everyone around you. Denial makes you feel complete, even if its just an illusion.
Sadly, you can only spend so much time in the denial phase. At some time, you have to get out of the denial room and face the music. It is scary, it is pathetic, it is everything you wish you could unsee, but unfortunately, that's what life is all about.
In July, I lost my dog. Its been two months but I don't think I can still talk or write about it without my eyes getting foggy. I thought I would wait it out and only write about it when thinking about his death stopped giving me chills, but as anyone who has ever lost a pet will tell you, that will never really happen.
Losing a dog is such a particular feeling, that if you haven't gone through the ordeal you will probably find the grief and pain strange. Its like a void in your heart which will never ever be filled by anything or anyone.
The thing with dogs is, they force you to be their friends even when you don't want to. They force you to leave the house even when you just want to lie in your bed all day. They have absolutely no understanding of personal space, so they check up on you literally every 10 minutes to make you are alive and well.
I may be able to accept his death but I don't think I will ever feel okay whenever I ring my doorbell and enter the house. Nobody is there to greet me. Nobody is jumping over me. Nobody is trying to steal my backpack.
All I can do at this moment is hope that he has found his peace and he isn't in pain anymore. As for me, I am sure I will find some peace as well. If not now, then some day.
PS - Writing this wasn't easy. But as I edit it, I realize I feel much lighter than I have in months.
Till next time