Wednesday, August 13, 2014
I became the worst possible version of myself. I was trapped, trapped in a house in the worst winter in decades, dealing with an animal I felt no common ground with. No joy. No connection. My little old man dog, my pal, my guy we got before we were even married, was miserable. I felt guilt and anger for this, too.
I became that person with a bigger dog (she wasn't that big but she wasn't small, either). I hate going to someone's house and having their dog sniff my crotch, jump at me, snag my clothes, get dog hair on me, and here I was, inviting people into my home to do just that. My house smelled, of urine and dog. There was hair everywhere. We burned out a furnace fan because there was so much dog hair clogging the vent. I wore my beautiful black jacket and was horrified to realize it was covered in long blond dog hair.
This wasn't our finest moment. Even looking back I see how completely and totally unhappy I was, and how that then translated into everyone else completely unhappy. I was the captain of the ship, and in my estimation, the ship was due to sink any minute now.
As I write this I waver. On one hand I'm embarrassed. Who can be so unhappy over a dog? Who is such a bitch? Funny. More shame. Why couldn't I be better? Why couldn't I train her? What was my problem. On the other I want to share more, more of the complete heartache I felt. How I felt usurped in my own home. Actually, I felt I had no home anymore, truth be told. I had no escape. No privacy. I no longer owned my moments.
It will take a while, I think. To work through this. To deconstruct it, label it, learn. To be able to talk about it without feeling as though everything is made of delicate glass and will smash loudly and wholly if it's talked about too much.
But this is a start.