There has been a lot going on. Losing
home, and then Billy barely two weeks later, has shattered so much.
I’m working on a post explaining how
I ended up where I am living now. The long-story-short version?
Neither The Salvation Army or any homelessness organizations could
find somewhere for me in time. Mum put me up in a motel room for two
nights. A caseworker from a mental health organization got me into a
Supported Residential Service, where I stayed for six weeks
(basically a nursing home for all ages, and while wonderfully
supportive, it also drained 99% of my income, while still having to
buy my own food because I couldn’t eat theirs). I am now in
short-term accommodation at a share house for homeless women (which I
hate and am too scared to leave my room).
As I mentioned in my last post, Billy
and Misty were cared for by a charity, staying at volunteers’
houses and being well cared for. Both they and my team were working
to have Billy classes as an emotional support animal. The SRS had
agreed to him coming to stay with me there (a friend I met there had
his dog there too). Fate being cruel, he was mere days away from
coming to be with me when he had his accident. We parted on August
23rd. He injured his eye on September 6th, I visited him before his
surgery on the 7th, and spent a few hours with him on morning of the
8th. By 8pm on the 9th, he had gone into cardiac arrest.
I will never forget the fear those
days. That they weren’t sure he’d make it through the surgery.
The relief when he did. The shock of seeing him missing an eye with a
very swollen head (but otherwise in good spirits). But the most vivid
was when I was sitting on the porch of the SRS with the rest of the
smokers on that Sunday night, and saw the vet who’d been taking
care of him the past two weeks walking up to the building. Trying to
hold it together as my new friend (we’ll call him J), who’d been
a great support through it, came with me when the vet asked the staff
for a private room to speak to me in, trying to convince myself that
it was something else.
Then, she held my hand,
“I’m very sorry...”
Before she could finish her sentence, I
was hysterical. Sitting there, crying and screaming, Billy, my baby
boy, oh god, why. Staff and residents coming in because someone was
suddenly screaming uncontrollably.
I called mum on speakerphone within
minutes. I couldn’t bare to make the call, so I wanted her to hear
what the vet was saying. When she said she couldn’t drive the
6-hour return trip to take me to see him that night, and it would
have to wait until the morning. I called my brother, just over an
hour away. Even though it was late and he had to be up early for
work, he agreed straight away.
The vet had told me I could only see
him for 20 minutes, as it was a very busy emergency clinic, and then
I’d have to say goodbye. When I got there, the staff showed us to a
room and brought him in. I held him. I lay on the floor, sobbing,
singing “You Are My Sunshine”. After an hour, my brother nudged
me that it was time to let go. I knew I had a lot more time than I
thought I would.
My poor boy. My baby. I’m sorry for
rambling on, much of which I’ve already posted. Whenever I start
talking or writing about him, I can’t stop, no matter how upset I
get.
On top of the homelessness issue,
losing him has destroyed what was left of my mental health. I spend
half of my time overdosed on my meds, and the other half binge
drinking the cheapest Shiraz I can find because I have no medication
left. I spend all day lying in bed. There have been many times I
should’ve gone to the emergency room - times that, if I was at
home, mum would’ve called 000. I have very seriously considered
joining him. I have been found passed out in the kitchen from
overdoses, and at times unable to walk or form simple words. I have
even called Lifeline, at the end of my rope, and spent hours crying
to them, telling them about Billy.
As I write this, I realize there is
nothing else in my life right now. There is nothing else to say.
There is homelessness, a more passive issue that I’ll cover in
another post, and there is the loss of Billy. Grief has consumed
every minute of the past four months. I call mum every day just to
talk to someone about him. I often find myself journaling or writing
notes on my phone, often repeating myself, just to write about him. I
medicate and I drink and I cry. My life has become consumed by loss.
Thankfully, I do have Misty here with
me, after a few weeks of trying to convince the owners. It has been a
great comfort after spending the first two months alone. But part of
me realizes it will never be the same. When I first picked Misty up,
I cried. Not necessarily because I hadn’t seen her for so long, but
because it was now just the two of us. And don’t get me wrong, I
love her... but it’s just not the same. Billy and I had such a deep
connection. He’d been by my side since I was 10. He was my world.
I haven’t had a mental health safety
plan since losing Billy. Under the section “Reasons To Live”, the
only reason was ever Billy. I know Misty would be fine to be
re-homes, that she could still be happy and thrive. But Billy,
anxiety-ridden and codependent... it always effected both of us a
great deal if I even went away for a night. We needed each other.
Tomorrow, it would’ve been Billy’s
15th birthday. It also marks six years since losing Silky, our family
dog. Six years since I realized they are only mortal, and started
making plans for what would happen when Billy’s time came (Silky’s
passing was very sudden, going from fine to gone within hours, and
none of us knew what to do. We never got her remains, and I knew I
wanted more for Billy). I’m planning to spend the day with mum, as
my psychologist doesn’t want me to be alone. My brother will be
joining us for dinner. On the 9th of every month, each month since he
passed, I’ve been fasting. I don’t even drink. It’s become a
near-religious routine. But tomorrow, especially considering I’ve
had no medication for a week and won’t for a few more days, I’ll
be taking advantage of having access to decent wine.
I’ll try to get my post about my
journey with homelessness up soon. I’m sorry that my posts have
been so depressing and rambling. I think I’ve avoided posting
because I knew it would come out as another long sad story about
Billy, when I’ve wanted instead to update you on my living
situation and everything that’s been happening alongside.
How cruel fate can be. To lose
everything and have life turned upside down in the span of two
weeks... It just feels like a sick fucking joke.
P.S, I’m sorry for disappearing. I
know some of you have been concerned or wondering if I’m okay.
Everything just takes so much effort right now.
A couple of people have asked about
contacting/following me on other social media. I don’t use
Instagram or Snapchat or tumblr or twitter or any of that. I am
always on Facebook, although I don’t really post much. You can find
me under the email address too-much-not-enough@hotmail.com
To end this post on a less negative
note, a few pictures.
When I ventured down to a pub a block
away shortly after moving to the share house.
Christmas lunch. I didn’t get to cook
this year. Instead, my family came down and we went to a nice pub.
Everyone actually enjoyed the food, which was surprising given a set
menu. I was slack with pictures, but we all had Korean BBQ lamb ribs,
eye fillet steak with scalloped potatoes and broccolini, and mud
cake. I may or may not have had a bottle of wine...
The same pub. The night after leaving
home, staying at a motel in town and heading to the SRS the next
morning. It was right next door to this pub and I’d always wanted
to go. So, I took myself out for a steak and a nice bottle of wine,
as I knew it’d be the last time for a while I’d be able afford
it.
xxBella
