Max, the Miniature Schnauzer

IMG_20150325_021350~2You were perfect. I didn’t know it at the time, but you were. I couldn’t have asked for a better dog; a better friend. I wish I had more time with you. I wish I would’ve been a better owner; more walks, more cuddling. To see you slowly break down until you could barely breath was hard. I tried to help. I was slow to act because I was afraid. Maybe if I would have took you to the vet sooner, you’d still be here. Maybe.

I know I shouldn’t go down that road. It just sucks. I was supposed to get more time. Inaction does that.

Now, I can’t walk in my front door and not be crushed that you won’t be there greet me. I can’t look over and see you sleeping. You were the best a person could ask for. You weren’t normally loud, or otherwise bad. You protected us ourselves; from the dangers of jadedness and apathy.

There were days when I only got out of bed to feed or let you out. You were there for me more than you ever knew, just by being you. The world, my world, are so much less with out you. You’ll save me once more. I know I have to try; you’d want me to. I’ll be the guy you saw in me; the best Brian as you were the best Max.

No more pain. Breath easy. I love you.

Dear Sister

I knew from the moment I did it, that I would not be able to take it back. I knew that the first time, and I knew it the second time. I’ve said why I did it; why I was reacting that way. I know that doesn’t make it any less wrong or horrible. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me. I’m not sure I deserve to be.

But likewise, I don’t think I can forgive you. I know you apologized, well at least what passes for one with you. It wouldn’t surprise me if you really did think what you said. I know it’s true. Again, that’s why I did what I did. Hearing that my own sister thought thinks that just adds on to my mountain of failure.

You can’t take back words or spit.

Where Have You Been, Dear Boy?

It’s been over a year yet, the feelings are still there. I’m ashamed. It only lasted two months and, truth be told, I still think of you relatively often.

I question why every time.

Is it your smile; your perfect brown eyes? How about the memory of you staring up at me after jumping in the shower with me? Or the way we could just hang out and I could still feel content? Is it the way you had me crawl into your bedroom window so your roommate didn’t know I was there? Is it the fear you had of being alone? Or my fear of being alone? Is it your playful dog? Or the smile you had when greeting me at the window? Was it the feeling that there was something? Was it me being confused about how you felt? Or maybe it is just me.

Maybe it is the way I reacted. The way I felt alone and felt unable to fix it. The way that I feel pathetic for STILL thinking of you. The things I did and said, that didn’t help anything. Or maybe it was what you represented to me. Proof that I could move on; proof that I had some agency in my own life. Proof that I could meet new people and move on with little fan fair or drama. Or maybe it was that I failed those things.

Or maybe it was all of it. The way those things shaped the last year. The person in me I feel I lost; the man I didn’t and don’t deserve to be.

I catch glimpse of him every now and then. He never sticks around for long. Where have you been, dear boy?

How to Give a Shit

I remember I time in my life when I was excited about life. Excited to try new things and to show people what I’ve done. Not six years ago, I felt like I knew how to try; how to give a shit. I can’t tell you what happen, or what changed. I just want to wake up and feel the urge to work on something. If I never had to wake up, I would sleep the rest of my life away. I need to make some kind of change, but I’m not sure what. This is all new territory for me.

Depression, The New Status Quo

I’m finding it hard to breath. I can’t relax or calm myself. I lack support here and I feel as if I lost myself because of it. I’ve been trying to hide; trying to get away from everyone. I don’t know why I can’t move on. I don’t know why I can’t see the good anymore. This things that I once loved to do are very difficult for me to concentrate on.

I don’t want to try anymore. I want to curl up in a ball and let myself wither away. I’m at a loss for options.

The Lowest Lows

I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I can’t think logically right now. I hate that no matter how nice, or friendly, I am that it all ends up in vain. I’m worthless. I hate that I’m ashamed to feel this way. I hate that no one has time for me. I hate that everyone is going to move on and leave me behind; never to even think of me again. I’m stuck. I hate that I hold myself back from my goals. I hate that I want to cry. I hate that even the slight upsides I can’t see right now. There is no light at the end of my tunnel.

I went to my school’s counseling center recently and told them that I had thought about killing myself. Just telling someone made it much easier to entertain those thoughts. If he hadn’t done it, I might. I could never do that to my family or the few friends I do have. So I force myself into isolation, not because I think it’ll help but because I don’t want anyone to see me like this. No on can know that I’ve hit the lowest of lows.

What I hate the most is how all of this is my own doing. It’s all my fault. I’ve kept people at a distance; others I let myself become dependent on. I didn’t think I was lost until recently. There is no upside this time. I don’t know that I can hold out till I know I could be okay. It really shouldn’t be this bad. I guess years of ignoring these problems will do that.

The Shame I Carry

I’ve done things I’m not proud of; things I don’t want anyone to know. They always do though; I’m not capable of hiding my feelings or myself for very long. I’m ashamed that I can’t handle things on my own. I’m ashamed that as I’m falling farther than I’ve ever fallen before, I can’t get a grip. I can’t be as stable as I want.

I have plenty of things to do that would distract me, but I can’t help but feel like they just don’t matter. I want to run away from it all. But at a certain point, even the running bulls have to come to a stop. I’m in a dangerous place because I took a dangerous path. This is my own fault.

I’m ashamed I’m depressed and that I can’t handle it on my own. Now, as I sit here in forced isolation, no one can save me.


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