It’s been nearly weeks since Billy passed, and it’s not getting any easier.

I’m sorry for disappearing, both after moving out of home and after losing Bill. I’m having trouble finding words lately. My phone is full of notes of keywords and jumbled thoughts from the past few months, and I’ve been trying to compile them into something halfway comprehensible.

When mum came down to visit, she brought me some of his things. The pillow from his dog bed stays next to me on my bed, and I’ve been holding that instead of my stuffed toys, which have been demoted to the foot of my bed. His urn stays on my bedside table, with his paw prints on the wall, and a mini shrine on the shelf above. When things get rough, I lie there holding him. Billy used to always sleep behind my knees, and I spend the night hugging his pillow with him nestled behind my knees. Just feeling the weight against me, when I close my eyes I could nearly pretend I’m back home in my bed with him there.

But that can never be again.

I’ve lost all care for where I end up. I don’t care about having everything I own locked away in storage, or when I’ll be able to have my sewing set up again. I don’t care about finding my own place, because I know that when I do, and when I get Misty back, it’s going to hurt even more. The emptiness will be amplified. Being in short term accommodation, it feels a bit like being in hospital and only being away from him for a little while. When I’m somewhere permanent… I don’t know how I’ll cope.

Some days are worse than others. I’m completely overwhelmed by life, and I’m not coping as well as I could be. There isn’t much support around at the moment – my case manager has disappeared, and my GP is away for six weeks. My psych has been calling me at least once a day (and yes, I’ve actually spoken on the phone with her). The past few days have been particularly rough. She came to see me for an emergency appointment yesterday, and the first words out of her mouth were “I think you need to go to the psych ward.”
I have never felt as alone as I do without him.

Even writing this, I kept breaking down in tears, hence it’s taken so long to post an update. It has even made me physically ill. A few days ago, I was sitting outside with my second coffee of the morning, trying to write this. Then I started getting a headache and feeling sick. I went in to have my meds and lie down, and I threw up all of the coffee along with the meds. I’ve felt ill from emotions before, but I don’t think I’ve ever thrown up from them.

I am full of grief. There is no room for food. There is nothing I want. I just want him back.

My world is empty. Everything seems pointless. I don’t game. I don’t read books, or watch movies. I don’t do any sewing or crafts. I don’t cook or bake. I go outside to smoke cigarettes, and I lie in bed. My psych wants me to give myself permission to be happy. But how can I ever be happy without him?

I’m not okay. But my heart is still beating and I’m still breathing.
I don’t want to make this post into an epic, so I’ll leave it here for today. I’ll start drafting a post to update on the big move (and several subsequent smaller moves), and hopefully get it posted in the next week. I just wanted to quickly check in and let you all know I’m still here.

“She was tired, with that tiredness that only emptiness brings.”

Those who have me on Facebook will have seen these already.

My boy has had a beautiful send off. The urn is beautiful, and I also have a necklace that holds a tiny part of his ashes, so he is always with me. I’m so grateful to the Cherished Pets Foundation, not only for taking care of him and Misty when I ended up homeless, but also for funding Billy’s vet care, and for helping make arrangements and supporting me through such a difficult time.

When I have the money, I’m going to get his paw prints tattooed, either on my ankle or the back of my leg. I’ve been meaning to get a couple of different tattoos, but having to go out into town and find a tattooist I like has been too daunting. But now, the want is great enough to do so.

I couldn’t bring myself to throw out the flowers Cherished Pets gave me. By the time I thought to press them, they were already too dry, so I kept the whole bouquet. At some point I want to cut them down to a smaller bouquet, and find some sort of container to keep them safe in, but that’s a project for another day.


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