Lost

Isis died this morning. Or last night. I'm not sure.

I wasn't there.

I have been drinking. And my day has been filled with tears. Sobbing, really. About every half hour. I still can't fathom that the world has changed. Life is going to continue for me without her.

I got her for Christmas somewhere around 2009. When my ex and I first started dating we saw a kitten outside his apartment complex that we were not able to catch. Then during the winter some time later there was a cat at the stairs. We were living together at this point. I approached it and it let out this very peculiar and off-putting screech of a meow. I can't believe I will never hear that sound again.

She was kind, though. She didn't run. She let me approach and pet her, but we went upstairs without bringing her in the first time. She stayed there because it was a particularly cold winter and I think she wanted someone to let her in...the next time I saw her I picked her up and carried her inside. We assumed she was the kitten we saw running around when we first met. It was like destiny. I suppose it seems equally fateful that now that our relationship is over she has passed as well.

I didn't visit much this week- but I went over last night and she rested next to me for a while before I left. I'm just so glad I got to see her one last time but that memory feels like it is dissipating as the day wears on. Replaced by grief. Replaced by the moment I turned my car around because my ex called to tell me she was gone. I kept hoping during the hour drive back from the mid-point of my trip that I would get there and she would be fine. That she would have been playing a trick on him but would reanimate for me because she was my avatar and there was no way she could leave this world before I did.

The memory of her sleeping next to me is not as fresh as the one of entering the house to see him crying, rushing to the bathroom and finding her lying on the ground as though she were asleep. Picking her up and feeling the stiffness of her joints. Trying desperately to shut her eyes as though that would make things better. As though that would mean she died in peace. Petting her. Clutching her, with no sound or response. Cleaning her mouth and her eyes. Brushing her. I wanted to wash her. She hadn't been taking care of herself well lately. She was old, right? We had been together for almost 9 years, so she was almost 9 at least, right? It wasn't just my negligence. It wasn't just my incapability. I loved her so much, I couldn't be the reason she's gone, right?

I have been drinking.

And I have discovered that scissors break skin better than knives.

And that I am alone. And I can't face more death.

I didn't have enough pictures of her. I probably didn't love her enough. I probably don't love enough. I just keep going through the pictures and video I am so grateful to have and trying to think of a way to will her back to life. I think I'll be better this time. I can't believe I left her for so long. I should have taken them immediately when I left, pet fees be damned. I should have borrowed the money. I should have taken her to the vet more regularly. I can't argue with myself that she didn't suffer. I hope she knew how much I loved her.

I held her and she was so heavy. So much heavier than she ever seemed before.

Honesty is a mistake.

I wrapped her in a blanket. It cost 330 dollars to get her cremated. I took her to the funeral home in the blanket. And she looked like she was sleeping. She was so heavy. But she looked like she was just sleeping and not all of her was so stiff. I can't bring myself to look up when a body stiffens because I don't want to know how long after I left the house it was until she died. I just wanted the rest of her body to loosen up. Her fur was still so soft but her shoulders and limbs wouldn't move and it was hard to believe it was her.

This has been the first big death in my life. I feel as though most people would think I am being ridiculous for mourning a cat this way- but from the moment we brought her in I identified with her so much. She had a weird sound, seemingly aggressive and off-putting but she was so kind. She gained so much weight but tried to be active. She was so particular about the way she got attention but so clearly wanted to be loved. She also wanted to escape.

She did, briefly. A few months ago. Before I moved. She was gone for a day or two. I eventually found her on a neighbor's porch and she seemed happy I had finally come home. She came with me easily. I hope she knew how much I loved her.

I cut all my hair. I cut my wrists. I was watching Kdramas and realized that if I wanted what they have I would have to smile as though this doesn't hurt. I would have to push forward and preserver. I wanted her to see me succeed. Is that silly? I wanted to get her and the kitten better things. To be with them more often at the very least.

I was supposed to take them both back this weekend. I have brought the kitten to our new home. A new reality. I suppose the kitten is more of who I am now- we both spook easily and seem to understand very little. She is hiding under the bathroom sink. I am drinking. Alone. Uncertain of most things- but I will survive to honor Isis and get through law school with a smile holding back the pain like a spritely korean girl and then I will kill myself after I achieve that milestone.

Educational success is all I can aim for...this has taught me one thing above all else- I am alone, and no one will ever want to deal with my shit. And scissors cut skin better than kitchen knives.

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