Head Full of Mud

24 November, 2019

One, blue. Two, brown. Three, orange. 

Mini M&M’s, rolling in my hand.

All gone now. 

I’m restless. My life is greying skies and listless fog, woeful birdsong and pattering rain. I roll off the bed into a heap on the floor. 

I don’t want to move. I can’t make myself look around and remember. Every moment etched into these walls, every love song still floating in the air—sweet enough to give you cavities. 

Against my will, a tear slips out. Then another. Eleven in total before I force myself to stop. Look at me—half under my bed in the same clothes I’ve slept in for three days, counting my tears. So pathetic. Even my Rottweiler with rocks for brains knows I am a fool.

So I write and write to chase the pain away. 

25 November, 2019

I slept through my fourth alarm. Yay. I missed my job interview—the one I needed, the one I practically begged to get. 

Can’t you see it? 

Me, surrounded by musty books and mismatched antique salt shakers. 

Oh well. I’ll just sit here in this bed that’s too big, in this apartment that’s too cold, beside my fish tank that’s too empty. Just another thing I couldn’t keep. 

I settle back down into the nest I’ve made, his smell still clinging to the sheets. I can’t seem to wash them enough. Or maybe I don’t wash them at all. Because I can’t. 

Because secretly, I lie there and bask in his soul-sucking scent. 

Inhale. Exhale. Ache and Hurt and Cry. Repeat. 

27 November, 2019

I didn’t write yesterday. The flashbacks started when I took Mickey on a walk. We passed the tree where the initials are still carved. I turned straight around and came home. All I could do was lie on the rug in my room, shell-shocked. The memory was salt rubbed into raw skin. 

It went like this:

I was lonely. After a phone call, a pizza order, and thirty minutes—there he was. We got out the little movie player, snuggled deep in the blankets, and started the movie. He giggled with unencumbered joy at every funny part, even after we watched it three times in a row.

I was his Beans and he was my Rango. He brought me back from losing myself—just as Rango brought back the water. Eventually I began to drift off to sleep, him holding me close. When I jerked awake, his warmth lulled me into safety, his heartbeat my rhythm. He stayed and held me all night, barely sleeping. After that, I couldn’t fall asleep without him. 

Until now. 

Now, it’s cold. 

Now, I’ve broken the DVD. 

Now, all I do is fall into a dull, heavy, nightmarish sleep. And every morning I wake with my head full of mud and my heart full of lead.

29 November, 2019

Have you ever been driving in the snow, turning a corner, and suddenly fishtailed? That weightless panic that floods you, however briefly—adrift. 

You can feel yourself losing control, and there’s nothing you can do but slide farther. And for a nearly imperceptible moment—you wonder if you even want the tires to catch the pavement again. 

I’m starting to wonder if I will ever feel “normal” again. Will I ever be able to right my wheels? Or will I continue to drive like I need an alignment for the rest of my life? 

3 December, 2019

Again, I can’t sleep. My stomach is just twisting, twisting like I’ll be pulled apart at the seams. 

I saw him today, though he doesn’t know it. At the cafe, where we used to eat every morning. Clearly, he doesn’t feel this loss the same way I do. And there was someone with him, which I should’ve been expecting, but it hit me in the chest like a train. I wished it actually had been a train—for a moment. 

So I did something I should’ve done a long time ago. I picked up my phone and called a therapist. Maybe I’ll actually follow through, maybe not. The call itself left my body rippling with anxiety. 

But I just can't do this anymore. 

12 December, 2019

I woke up to something crushing my chest. It was Mickey. The moment he realized I was awake, he licked my whole face. I smiled. I haven’t done that in a long time. 

Later, meandering down the street after breakfast, I felt light. I haven’t felt like that in a month. Watching Mickey sniff through someone’s flowerpot and strain against the leash whenever another dog passed, I realized how carefree he was. 

Even if he didn’t get a treat every time he sat, even if he didn’t get to play as much as he wanted—he was still happy. He found joy in dirt and leaves. He yipped like a puppy at the sight of a bird. 

Dogs are like that—zealous about living, excited at the prospect of tomorrow. I need to be more like Mickey. I can be. I will be.

29 December, 2019

It’s 11:38 p.m. Mickey’s asleep on the couch, and I’d say today was… okay. I awoke to shredded dog toys all over the floor. Mickey had a productive night.

On my way to Joan’s Cafe, my check engine light came on. I ignored it. As I drank my coffee and picked at my pancakes, my mind wandered to him, as usual.

 I remember his features in crisp detail. 

Bathed in golden light—freckles dancing across his cheeks, dimples dipping at the corners of his smile. Auburn curls, soft as feathers through my fingers. And those pools of silky honey for eyes… 

Everything about him dazzled me. I was starstruck. 

In love. 

But thinking about him now is gentler, somehow. 

13 January, 2020

Sunlight shines, but burns. Snow glitters, but freezes. Lead protects, but poisons. Everything has downfalls. 

The list could go on. Love is the strangest of them all. 

It blossoms. It grows and deepens. And sometimes, it inexplicably vanishes entirely. It may take months for the melancholy creature in my heart to face the sun again. Still, I have people that love me. And a dog with his boundless appetite for life. 

Mickey is kicking his legs, running in a dream. 

Tomorrow he’ll wake me before the sun again.