Board Thread:Fun and Games/@comment-31440726-20171230181215/@comment-31440726-20180114035842

I may have told this story before, but I'll tell it again, because now, I'm telling the real story. I repressed this for three fucking years, and I just need to finally spill it out.

Four years ago, Oliver met a stray cat. He was white with a few brown patches and a brown tail, so I dubbed him CC, which stood for Cookies and Cream. But anyway, Oliver and him became friends. But there had always been something... wrong with him. The biggest tip-off was that his fur always looked kind of dirty. Because we were concerned that he was ill, we tried to rescue him. But because we only had Oliver for a year, and were still newbies at cat raising, we had no idea how to rescue CC properly. He didn't even  want  to be rescued. Like, it was as if he knew he didn't have much time left.

And he really didn't. Over the course of several months, CC's health deteriorated rapidly. He got too sick to groom himself, so his fur got dirty and unkempt. His mobility was hindered, and in his final days, he was dragging his back legs around. I think it was cancer.

Oliver had always been there for CC to comfort him, and when CC died, Oliver was so distraught that he disappeared for five days to grieve. Anyone who says that pets don't grieve is wrong, because Oliver wasn't himself for a while.

I had never experienced death before. So when it finally happened, the sudden despair was scary. It was such an overwhelming concept that I repressed it. I forced myself to feel nothing. Whenever I told CC's story, I repressed any emotion that existed, almost as if I was talking about the weather. This went on for three years.

I thought I had gotten over his death. But I was simply in denial for three years. I denied that I was grieving.

Last summer, I had a dream where I found that CC was alive. For the first time ever, he looked  healthy. I feel like he was giving me a status update or a reminder that he's not suffering anymore. When I told my parents about it, I refused to admit that I was sad. I was visiting my grandparents, and I didn't want to depress anyone, because vacations are supposed to be  happy. So I continued to repress it.

But I have to give a  huge  thank you to a user on Reddit because he posted something about his dog. And that post he made reminded me of everything. It finally made me snap out of the denial stage that I was stuck in for so long.

Now that I'm willing to spill out my emotions to my parents, and to Reddit, it feels like I've dropped a forgotten burden. I'm finally able to grieve. These emotions I have are overwhelming, and I've never felt this level of sadness before. But I'm glad that I can accept my true feelings, because I feel a lot better now.

I feel like it's my fault for not doing enough to save CC. I know that we didn't know better, and he didn't even want help, but I cannot convince myself to not be guilty. But CC's death wasn't entirely bad. There are many things that are reassuring me, maybe even making me  happy. As he was dying from his illness, he had Oliver to comfort him, so he wasn't alone. Because he started dragging his back legs around, I suspect that Oliver brought mice to him. Oliver helped reduce the suffering in his final months. And this is even surprising me, but I'm somewhat happy that CC died. Why? Because he was terribly suffering, and he's not suffering anymore. Last summer, he used a dream to reunite with me. He was happy to see me, and I was so overjoyed to see him happy for the first time that I shouted, "You're okay!" I had felt guilty over not doing enough, but he seemed to forgive me. He looked healthy and was running around, and it was clear that he was not suffering from his illness anymore. That dream was a huge morale booster, because it confirmed that he's finally happy.

Yet, he hadn't left. In fact, I feel like he  couldn't  leave. The "status update" dream wasn't in heaven. After the dream, he started to visit me as a ghost when I was awake late at night. I had always felt that he was haunting the house. I have a feeling that he was stuck in this world because I couldn't let go of him. But now that I'm willing to accept that he's gone, he isn't stuck here anymore, and he can finally go to Heaven. I'm really glad that I believe in Heaven, because it makes me feel a lot better about death. That's probably the whole point of religion.

Even with my happiness at finally letting myself feel emotions, this is still very overwhelming, and I've never felt this sad before. I feel aches for no reason, and I want to eat despite feeling physically full. And at least I know that this is totally normal. I'm tempted to try convincing myself to not have survivor's guilt, but this is probably the  worst  way to deal with grief. My parents told me that I have to let myself feel the emotions before I can move on, and I think they're right. I wish this would go by quickly, but it probably will not.

I've never dealt with death before, but I think I'm getting somewhere.