Why don’t you come back?

If there was ever a time I needed you to flutter to me and be positive with me, it’s right now.

But you’ve been gone for so long. I’m not sure you’re coming back.

Ou etes vous?

Retournerez vous jamais?

Il y a presque deux semaines que vous me parlez. Je vous ai fais folle? Vous etes en collere?

Ou etes vous?

It feels like you’ve been gone forever. You never come to talk to me anymore.

That last message you sent wasn’t that far back, I think. But it feels far. Why haven’t you come back?

I’ve forced my mind away from all of the bad thoughts and that led to me have some of the worst series of panic attacks I’ve ever experienced Thursday and Friday. I surrounded myself with happiness and beauty, and the pain found me still. It forced it’s way in every day, in one way or another. In situations I could barely handle.

I was not meant to be happy this week. This was proved to me over and over again. I need this week to be over.

I need my dog back. I need him back now.

I do know how I’d write it though. 

Where is my control in this situation?

I had no control in this choice. When I was sitting on my mother’s bed, she looked me in the eye and said, “One more mistake and the dog is gone.” There are so many types of gone. But she wasn’t talking about the softer versions. She meant dead. Put down. Stolen from me forever.

I had no control this morning. When I’m sitting on a board in a garage, tears literally streaming down my face, the two “adults” involved in this sit at a table, chatting. My mom walks over to me and says, “You ready?” I want to shake my head, but it’s my voice that shaking when I say, “No.” She pulled me to my feet, picked up my bag, and said, “Say goodbye to him.” My tears are blurring my vision, and they’ve clouded my glasses. I can hardly stutter for him to be good. That I love him. His head is cocked and he’s straining to follow me, but the trainer’s holding his leash. My mom pulls me from the garage and closes the door. I want to go back. I want a hug. I want this to be over. To be nonexistent. All I get is dragged to the car.

I have no control now,while I lay in my bed, and I can’t sleep because I know he isn’t here. Because he isn’t tucking his nose between my arm and neck, curved against my stomach. He isn’t curled up in my crook of my knee, trying to decide if he wants his head on my legs or nuzzling them. He’s not on my feet, making sure I can’t get up without him noticing. He’s not even laying in front of the door, preferring the hardwood floor when it gets hot, still preventing me from going anywhere without him knowing.

There is no control.

Can a butterfly fly without a heart? Can it fly without wings? I’m stuck on the ground, dragging myself along, hoping nothing comes at me too fast because I won’t have a chance to get out of the way.

There is beauty. I have great friends who are doing what they can to help me. I have a boss who cares enough about me to give me 24 extra hours this week that we don’t have to get me out of the house and distract me. I will make it until Ninja comes back and I’ll be stronger for it. I’ll be confident that Ninja won’t get into trouble anymore. I’ll be able to take him to the dog park without a leash, and not have to worry about him running away and our relationship will be stronger for it.

But I am so unhappy. So depressed. I can’t fight this. Everything I do has his shadow, his ghost, following me. He’s not begging for attention when my friend’s get here. He’s not laying at my feet while we’re in the kitchen. He’s not sticking by my leg when my friends leave. He’s not sitting at the door while I brush my teeth and he’s not running to the bedroom when I spit in the sink because he knows he’s next.

The water fast isn’t about control. It’s a protest. A protest my body is making me a part of. Because I’m not hungry. I’m just sick. I don’t want to eat. I want to vomit. This situation makes me sick.

How confused he must be. Everyone likens this to sending a son or daughter to camp. Well. It isn’t. I can’t explain to Ninja that he’s going to go away for a little while. And that everything will be okay. That I’ll come back for him. That I love him; that I’ll always love him. All he knows is that I left him in the morning and didn’t come back at night. And he’ll wait for me tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Until he gives up on me coming back.

Will he still be my dog when he comes back? Will he still love me? Will he still have his eternally optimistic personality? Will he be free-spirited and optimistic? Will he remember our routines? Will he remember our commands?

Or will he be broken in. Tame. Apathetic.

Is my only option to save my devoted puppy going to end up with me losing him anyway?

Someone who doesn’t want me to know them sent this to me over a week ago. I’m so enchanted by this. I honestly might put this everywhere. I might get it tattooed on my body. Or something representing it tattooed. (I just thought of the perfect symbol, by the way.)

Smile, smile and scribe your wings onto the page and take off.

It’s so simple. So beautiful. A breath-taking image.

Every wing-stroke makes another sentence. Ink dripping from the wings. The page grows smaller. Farther away as my fragile butterfly aspires to soar. Less room for words as each drop of ink takes shape as a word. Flying through my imagination, my worlds, my life. Sometimes, all is still. Others find my little butterfly lost in hurricanes and tornadoes. Nevertheless, my butterfly continues on, until it must return and be me again.

Exquisite butterfly to unworthy caterpillar. How sad this butterfly must be.

You’ve been silent the past couple days. Are you out there?

That is admirable. And it sounds difficult. I wish you luck on your task—one I haven’t the strength to undertake personally. But there’s a sense of bravery about your effort that should be rewarded. I hope you find that reward.

I’m being silly now…sorry. Well. I’m almost sorry.

No I’m not. I’m just silly. =)