So far, so bad.
I, my beloved non-readers, have been having a less than perfect year. Since January came and hit us in the face it's been a consistent stream of misery; illness, more illness, missing parents, loneliness, hospitals, unemployent for stupid things (I spilt some milk, GET THE FUCK OVER IT!), feelings of inadequacy, exams, death...and more death.
I'm sure everybody knows by now, but Friday afternoon, right after a three hour Enlish Literature exam, I returned home feeling tired and headachey, but ok.
When I got in, my mum was on the phone to the vet, about my dog, Lucy. The atmosphere in the room was clear; things weren't good.
Mum hung up and told me the news. Lucy had a malignant tumour on her spleen, causing her red blood cells to stop regenerating. They could operate, but her life would be extended by about three weeks if we were lucky.
So that was that. We had to make a choice, and neither were good.
In the end, we lucked out for the worst. We went to say goodbye.
This is the worst part.
We thought that she was under sedation, that she basically could pass peacefully and not know we were there. But when they brought her in, she was awake.
And God help me, she was so desperate to get out.
I haven't been in so muh pain before; My chest felt like it was being stretched over metal pins. My eyes were burning. It hurt so much I couldn't physically stand up. I nearly puked right there in the surgery.
I couldn't stay. I bent down, hugged her, kissed her, told her I loved her, and fled like a coward.
Twenty minutes later, she was gone.
She'd been my friend for twelve years. I miss walking her.
It's almost like something inside me has broken. This is the last straw that broke my back. Now, I'm not hugry. I eat, but I wouldn't if I could. I'm afraid to turn out the light, ecause of what I think of when it's dark. I'm not sleeping well right now.
I know now it's not just the loss of my dog. It's everyting else too.
I'm very, very tired. Of everything.
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