Where's Bella?

I’m sorry that I’ve disappeared for the past few months.

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