I remember when minor inconveniences used to send me over the edge and into a twelve hour bender. “Rough days” used to come with a hangover the next morning. And yet, I have somehow grown into a person who is handling the worst grief I have ever experienced and I’m doing it mostly sober. I am putting myself through the fucking wringer trying to hold space for it, but I’m getting it done. And that’s on personal growth.

This year was going so fucking well. I came back to life at the beginning of the year when I decided to bite the bullet and end an almost four year relationship that was making me absolutely fucking miserable. “So Long, London” really paints the perfect picture of my last relationship, if anyone is curious. He moved out after reacting poorly… the whole thing was a dramatic shitshow. But the freedom and pure joy I felt at getting my life back was on another level. The frustration I felt at getting everything split apart and settled was worth what I’d gained. This was the year I felt like I really had my shit together, and all of that grew out of the space I made from ending it with my ex.

Classes have gone well. My first practicum was not ideal but it was a much needed break after operating at 110% for far too long. My exhaustion caught up with me this summer and my depression came out for a bit, but it was much easier to manage. I know enough now. I know myself painfully well, I know what my moods look and feel like; and I’m also trained in psychotherapy. So I managed it. I bought an inflatable kiddie pool and roasted in my backyard while listening to lectures. Dallas (my dog) loved how much time we spent outside that summer. I had the time to. She was 12 and I had a ton of free time in the summer, absolutely we were going to be outside as much as possible.

Fall started great as well. Work was rocky, but I learned it’s pretty easy to deal with bullshit when you know that you’re leaving in a couple of months. Along with some other plot lines that I’m not going to broadcast to the world, it really felt like 2024 was one for the books. The best year ever. I was so excited to see what the rest of the year would hold. I was so happy.

And then, in the span of 7 weeks, I was physically assaulted walking home, and Dallas died unexpectedly. I went from calling this the best, happiest year to crying every day.

The assault tore the shit out of my face. My entire left cheek was deep road rash. My jaw was bruised, my wrist and hand was bruised and torn up by pavement. I think I may have had a small jaw fracture because I still have significant pain and that was over two months ago at this point. It’s been ten weeks. And my jaw hurts every day. So there was the physical healing (my whole fucking body hurt like hell for days. I kinda got the shit beat out of me), and also the mental toll that experiencing something like that does.

For context, this was homecoming. I’d tailgated, drank through the game, went out after the game… this bitch thought she was 26 again and it turns out she is not. She is 32 and has a much lower alcohol tolerance. But the thing about me that will always be true, is that I can fucking power through. I can hold myself together pretty well. But still, the memory was spotty and I didn’t totally remember what had happened when I first woke up. When I woke up stuck to my pillow case because my face was bleeding profusely. If you’re wondering, it’s pretty fucking horrific to wake up to a bloody face with no memory.

TL;DR: I’d walked home and something occured while I was alone on a trail. That’s all I got. Police found no video evidence of anything occuring.

I blamed myself hardcore and tore myself apart mentally really questioning why I still insist on… *checks notes* “going out and having fun.” I was also really distraught over not being able to know what had actually happened. I have vague memories of some sort of altercation (I remember my face hitting the pavement and trying to fight, I remember feeling fear) and I’m fairly certain I could point out where it happened on the trail because I almost have a panic attack when I get close to it. I wouldn’t be surprised if my brain is blocking it out as a trauma response. I’ve done that before with past traumatic experiences.

Anywho, so that happened mid-October. And it takes a few weeks after something like that to feel like a normal person again. So of course, just about when I’m starting to feel normal again, I lose my best girl.

I will do an entirely separate post on Dallas. She was so special to me. To give a glimpse of it, I adopted Dallas when I was twenty years old and just a couple of months after I’d attempted suicide. I was still violently depressed and very much suicidal, and bringing her into my life saved me. Her companionship saved me. Literally whenever I would start to consider another attempt all I could think was, Well shit, I live alone. What if it takes a while for someone to find me? What if Dallas has to go several days without food or water? And that ended the thought. My love for animals outweighed how much I hated myself. I had to be there for her. We got almost 13 years together. My entire adult life was spent with her in my bed or by my side. And it’s so fucking weird without her.

I’m fairly certain in the story of my life, December 5th goes down as one of the worst days. She was literally fine one day and dying the next. She had been slowing down a little, but I’d just assumed it was the cold weather and her arthritis. She hadn’t finished her last three meals, but she’d eaten most of it. She was still drinking plenty of water, still wanted to go on walks. I really didn’t see it coming. Not in the way that it went down.

I’ll get into that day in the next one. I don’t have the energy for it tonight.

I’m gonna write my way through it, but I don’t have to do it all in one post.

xx.

I hope everyone had a decent Christmas. Mine was… not as terrible as I thought it might be. So I’m counting it as a win.