I lay here with Dash in my arms. Remembering the countless sleepless nights I laid on the couch to sleep because my own bed was no longer comfortable.
My own bed was no longer a place I could lay and fall asleep.
I was succumbed by terror, fear, anguish, paranoia, hurt, panic and disbelief of what loomed outside of the walls, doors and windows.
The smallest sounds kept me from drawing a single breath until I knew all was safe in that moment again. I held my breath until my dogs finished their investigating and deemed it safe for me to breath again, because they were once again calm.
It’s been a year and a half and I’m here with one less dogs, because our trauma United is at first but eventually steered us apart, but he’s in a better home now.
Dash has rightfully so assumed Case’s old role and has handled the transition quite well, if I may say so. To include protectiveness with his momma outside and inside the apartment among other things.
He won’t leave my side ever, but I like that. In fact I need it now, because I’ve come to realize that I may actually really be alone for a unforeseeable length.
I’m 25 now. Almost two years since walking away from my mentally, physically and spiritually abusive husband, who was a chronic alcoholic, pathological liver, sociopath with a hint of narcissism.
Yeah, almost two years and all I have accomplished is become a harder and colder person towards anything and anyone that tries to get in my way. I am unapologetically not giving second chances to anyone. Instead of making quick life changing decisions, I have become more thoughtful and methodical in everything I do, from daily tasks, how I respond to the simplest questions to second guessing my old behavior and attitude in regards life, especially love.
Almost two years and I’m just now beginning to find my footing.
Almost two years and I’m still looking around when I let Dash out.
Almost two years, but I’m still alive.