Monty's Missing...
I feel like my life just gets worse and worse. I try to fix it, really I do. But something bad always happens. I've had a bad year. Lost my car in January in the floods, lost my job in April, my dog, Odie, got mauled in late May and couldn't be saved so he had to be put to sleep 2 days before my birthday, and now Monty's disappeared.
It's been 5 days now. Monty's never missed a single meal. He's missed like 25 meals since then. My life seems meaningless without him. I know I have 4 other cats, but it's like my brain just doesn't care, or my heart Is just too broken that there's no room for anything else in it.
I don't know what I'm gonna do. Life without Monty... I can't even imagine it. It was bad enough when I lost Odie. To lose another one of my fur-babies... It just seems too much to comprehend.
There are people out there who might say “he's just a cat” or “you've got 4 other cats who need your love and attention so suck it up”. Well, to the people who say that I say fuck you. I've lost something that cannot be bought or replaced. Monty was an individual. Sure, there were people who thought he was annoying, but he was mine and I loved him, despite all his faults. And God, do I miss him. I feel like there is this huge gaping hole in my heart. And I swear I can feel it. Like a part of myself is missing, or broken... Whatever it is, it's beyond repair. I'm beyond repair.
When Odie died it came as a huge shock. I hadn't known him very long, but we had a relationship that was closer than any I'd had with any other dog. In his absence I had to change every daily task. Odie would come with me everywhere from the beach, to town, to simply for a walk next door. We were inseparable.
Monty wasn't like that. Not at all. He was always free. For the first 3 years I had him I had to keep him inside because he had a habit of bashing the neighbour's cat. But as soon as they moved, Monty had free rein of the place, coming and going whenever he wanted. Sometimes he'd come for food and a snuggle. Other times he'd come just to be fed and to take off again. He was a strange cat. Always had a grumpy disposition. But one look at those beautiful moss-green eyes and all was forgotten. I remember when I first adopted him, he must've been getting poor food because I nicknamed him Cabbage Bum, because whenever he poofed it smelt like cabbage. Few weeks with me and his very expensive diet and he was poof-free. He hated rain, he hated music. Sometimes he would trot up to me or follow me to where I was walking, his baggy stomach waddling from side to side like an old lumpy pillow pegged on a clothesline.
He hated other cats. The only cat he ever had anything that even resembled a friendship with was Percy. And jeez, was he a grouch. If you petted him the wrong way, he'd speak up about it. He used to sit on the windowsill of both the toilet and the bathroom and just sit there and meow. He didn't want to come in. Just wanted to annoy the occupant I guess.
He'd often sit outside mum's window at 5am in the morning and just meow. Again, not sure what for. Just to wake people up. If he wanted feeding you'd think he would've come to my window or door.
Anyway the first day he went missing I just figured it was a bit of uncharacteristic of him, but nothing to be concerned with. By the second day, I was frantic. Crying, taking tablets. The third day, I was a wreck. Tablets together, mixed with alcohol, and then I started carving up my arm. First it was just cuts. I had deliberately broken a glass for the purpose of finding something sharp that would cut. Eventually I started carving his name into my skin. I found out O's aren't easy to carve. So really I just ended up with a huge M in my upper arm, and a mass of cuts into my forearm.
So later that night I wrote an email to one of my case workers and begged her for help. Asked her to please help them admit me into the mental hospital. She contacted Mental Health and forwarded my email, but in the end all I've got is a couple of referrals and a whole heart of hurt.
I don't know what I was expecting. I'm getting treated like a freak at home. A drug addict who has to have every kind of medicine from aspirin to medicine for my hayfever put away, or destroyed.
Tomorrow I'm going to this place for people who suffer mental illnesses. Then the next day I have a day trip planned with the group I met with a few months back. Honestly at this point I don't want to be around anyone. I just want to go to sleep and be left alone... Not wake up for a decade... Or until Moo comes home, which I doubt will happen.
I think I'm gonna go now. Sleep or whatever. Probably just lay there with no way of shutting my thoughts of since I've got zero medication to stop any of those invasive thoughts from starting.
The night is always the worst...
It's been 5 days now. Monty's never missed a single meal. He's missed like 25 meals since then. My life seems meaningless without him. I know I have 4 other cats, but it's like my brain just doesn't care, or my heart Is just too broken that there's no room for anything else in it.
I don't know what I'm gonna do. Life without Monty... I can't even imagine it. It was bad enough when I lost Odie. To lose another one of my fur-babies... It just seems too much to comprehend.
There are people out there who might say “he's just a cat” or “you've got 4 other cats who need your love and attention so suck it up”. Well, to the people who say that I say fuck you. I've lost something that cannot be bought or replaced. Monty was an individual. Sure, there were people who thought he was annoying, but he was mine and I loved him, despite all his faults. And God, do I miss him. I feel like there is this huge gaping hole in my heart. And I swear I can feel it. Like a part of myself is missing, or broken... Whatever it is, it's beyond repair. I'm beyond repair.
When Odie died it came as a huge shock. I hadn't known him very long, but we had a relationship that was closer than any I'd had with any other dog. In his absence I had to change every daily task. Odie would come with me everywhere from the beach, to town, to simply for a walk next door. We were inseparable.
Monty wasn't like that. Not at all. He was always free. For the first 3 years I had him I had to keep him inside because he had a habit of bashing the neighbour's cat. But as soon as they moved, Monty had free rein of the place, coming and going whenever he wanted. Sometimes he'd come for food and a snuggle. Other times he'd come just to be fed and to take off again. He was a strange cat. Always had a grumpy disposition. But one look at those beautiful moss-green eyes and all was forgotten. I remember when I first adopted him, he must've been getting poor food because I nicknamed him Cabbage Bum, because whenever he poofed it smelt like cabbage. Few weeks with me and his very expensive diet and he was poof-free. He hated rain, he hated music. Sometimes he would trot up to me or follow me to where I was walking, his baggy stomach waddling from side to side like an old lumpy pillow pegged on a clothesline.
He hated other cats. The only cat he ever had anything that even resembled a friendship with was Percy. And jeez, was he a grouch. If you petted him the wrong way, he'd speak up about it. He used to sit on the windowsill of both the toilet and the bathroom and just sit there and meow. He didn't want to come in. Just wanted to annoy the occupant I guess.
He'd often sit outside mum's window at 5am in the morning and just meow. Again, not sure what for. Just to wake people up. If he wanted feeding you'd think he would've come to my window or door.
Anyway the first day he went missing I just figured it was a bit of uncharacteristic of him, but nothing to be concerned with. By the second day, I was frantic. Crying, taking tablets. The third day, I was a wreck. Tablets together, mixed with alcohol, and then I started carving up my arm. First it was just cuts. I had deliberately broken a glass for the purpose of finding something sharp that would cut. Eventually I started carving his name into my skin. I found out O's aren't easy to carve. So really I just ended up with a huge M in my upper arm, and a mass of cuts into my forearm.
So later that night I wrote an email to one of my case workers and begged her for help. Asked her to please help them admit me into the mental hospital. She contacted Mental Health and forwarded my email, but in the end all I've got is a couple of referrals and a whole heart of hurt.
I don't know what I was expecting. I'm getting treated like a freak at home. A drug addict who has to have every kind of medicine from aspirin to medicine for my hayfever put away, or destroyed.
Tomorrow I'm going to this place for people who suffer mental illnesses. Then the next day I have a day trip planned with the group I met with a few months back. Honestly at this point I don't want to be around anyone. I just want to go to sleep and be left alone... Not wake up for a decade... Or until Moo comes home, which I doubt will happen.
I think I'm gonna go now. Sleep or whatever. Probably just lay there with no way of shutting my thoughts of since I've got zero medication to stop any of those invasive thoughts from starting.
The night is always the worst...
Replies
Through all of this you must not forget that you do have someone who loves you dearly. I still care for you of course. Try not to let the tragedy overshadow the blessings you do have. Your wounds will heal with time.